Recoil
by ack1308
Summary: The fight against Behemoth in New Delhi goes horribly wrong. Taylor, almost the only survivor, is sent back into the past by Phir Sē to try to fix matters. But there are complications ...
1. Chapter 1

**-ooo-**

**Recoil**

* * *

Disclaimers:

_1) This story is set in the Wormverse, which is owned by Wildbow. Thanks for letting me use it._

_2) I will follow canon as closely as I can. If I find something that canon does not cover, then I will make stuff up. If canon then refutes me, then I will revise. Do not bother me with fanon; corrections require citations._

_3) I welcome criticism of my works, but if you tell me that something is wrong, I also expect an explanation of what is wrong, and a suggestion of how to fix it. Note that I do not promise to follow any given suggestion. Posting negative reviews using an anonymous account is a good way to get said reviews deleted._

* * *

Part 1-0: Introduction

* * *

Blackness surrounded me. I huddled in my rocky grave. I didn't know how long it had been since thunder and lightning had wracked the sky, since the wall had collapsed on top of me.

Saving my life.

The earth had not shaken for a long time now. No more dirt filtered down on me. But it was getting hard to breathe. The air was getting stale. The rocks and earth surrounding me had saved me from Behemoth's fury, but it may yet kill me.

I shifted, turned. Stone ground, something pressed on my ribs. I pushed, tried to dig. There was the faintest sensation of giving, of movement. I shoved harder. Something reluctantly gave way, and I tasted fresh air. Not cool, not sweet; it was hot, baked, filled with dust and smoke, but it was breathable. I greedily sucked it into my lungs anyway.

With that one stone loosened, I scrabbled at the others around me. Some shifted out of the way; others began to grind downward, pressing on my body. I scrambled, shuffled forward. Something trapped my ankle; I kicked frantically, freed myself. And then there was a rush and rumble of tumbling stone, and daylight was suddenly visible.

Dusty, bruised, coughing, bloody, I emerged from the base of a mass of tumbled rubble. Overhead, the sky was a scorched brass colour, stained with smoke from a thousand fires. My costume was torn, almost shredded from me in places.

My mask was damaged; one lens was gone while the other was starred and opaque. I took it off and discarded it; it wasn't going to do me any good now. Likewise, the electronic armband was now dead and dark. It joined my mask on the ground. A pouch held my glasses; astonishingly, they were intact. I put them on. At least now I could see clearly.

I staggered to my feet, favouring the ankle that had been momentarily trapped by the stones. Any bugs I had in my costume had been crushed by the trapping stones, but I reached out now, gathered in my swarms.

What was left of my swarms.

I did not know where Behemoth had gone, but he had rampaged across the landscape, scouring it with fire, lightning and probably radiation as well. And in doing so, he had killed most everything above the ground, and some things below it.

Including most of the insects and other bugs.

But there were some. Cockroaches, long heralded as being the most likely survivors of a nuclear apocalypse, scrambled from niches and cracks. Flies rose here and there. Other bugs, more exotic, native to India, also responded to my call.

I set them to looking for survivors, while I myself stumbled from rubble pile to rubble pile, calling out names. The names of my friends. All the names I could recall of the heroes, the villains, the capes who had attended the call, the Endbringer Truce.

None answered.

My bugs spread far and wide, finding no evidence of human life. Just blasted devastation. Even where the city had been, there were not even the stumps of buildings.

-ooo-

I remembered the battle beforehand; the defence of New Delhi falling apart even before it could be properly formed. Falling back, looking for options.

Meeting Phir Sē.

Arranging the distraction, the damage to Behemoth. Holding the monster in place just long enough.

Giving the word to unleash the 'time bomb'.

And then ... disaster.

Behemoth had not been killed by the blast. He had been ... invigorated. His blasts had wiped out Eidolon's force field, sprayed energy across the battlefield. I had tried to organise an orderly retreat, scouting out safe avenues of escape. A stray blast had trashed my flight pack, set it on fire. Only my costume had saved me, but it had been badly damaged. I'd had to abandon the pack.

Running for my life, dodging falling stones, I had been barely grazed by blobs of flying magma, blasts of fire. Once again, my costume had saved me, but at the cost of its own integrity. My armour panels were shredded, and the spider silk underneath as well.

And then I had taken cover under a leaning wall, sought to catch my breath, use my bugs to locate my teammates.

And the wall had fallen in on me. Everything had gone black.

I didn't know how much time passed before I awoke and freed myself, but I suspected it had been a while.

-ooo-

I sobbed, the dust rasping in my throat.

And then I heard the voice, tiny, distant, through the ears of a scuttling cockroach.

"Taylor ...?"

I followed the sound through my bugs, zeroed in on it.

There was a pile of rubble, up against a flat-sided chunk of rock, remnant of some massive obelisk. Heedless of my already-torn fingernails, I scrabbled away rocks until I uncovered her. She had half a bed on top of her, keeping the rocks off her body. I lifted it away.

It was Lisa.

Tattletale.

She smiled up at me, helped me remove the last few stones. Grinned her familiar vulpine grin. She looked a little the worse for wear; there was a bandage around her throat.

"Hey," she said cheerfully, if a little raspily. "Good to see you. Give me a hand shifting this thing? I can't feel my legs anymore."

I looked at 'this thing', being the chunk of obelisk. The size of two large cars, it lay firmly across her pelvis. I looked at it, dropped to my knees, scraped away dirt. If she was on soft soil, if her legs had just been pressed into it …

She wasn't. They hadn't. The masonry under her was cracked but essentially intact.

Barring the intervention of someone like Panacea, she had basically zero chance of survival.

My heart, which had risen upon the discovery of a living friend, fell once more. I swallowed, turned to her.

She read it in my face, of course. "Fuck," she said quietly. "I thought as much. But I didn't want to look, so I wouldn't have to _know."_

"Fuck," I agreed. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck."_ Tears ran from my eyes.

She grasped my hand. "Sit down," she urged. "There's no need for any urgent rescue attempts, to find help, so sit down. I don't know how much more time I've got, but I'd rather spend it with you."

I sat, my back up against the mass of stone that had killed my best friend.

"What … happened?" I asked. "A wall fell on me. I missed most of it."

She rolled her eyes. "Behemoth took that big blast that came out of nowhere, and he … redirected it. Absorbed it. Survived it. Blasted everything around. Blasted every_one_ around. And then he just … kept going."

I bumped my head back lightly against the stone behind me. _"Fuck._ I'd hoped it would at least do more than piss him off."

She squeezed my hand. "Shit happens," she said. It was a mantra, a statememt of belief.

Tears started in my eyes. "Shit happens," I agreed.

"Something funny," she murmured. "I think I had another trigger event. While all that shit was going on."

"Didn't spontaneously give you the ability to get out of this, did it?" I asked, semi-hopefully.

She shook her head. "No. But I'm seeing a lot more. About everyone and everything."

I looked at her. Was she becoming delirious? Hallucinating?

She grinned at me. "Nope," she said. "I'm perfectly lucid. It's actually kind of cool. I know I'll never get out of this, but I get to answer all those questions that always bothered me, that my power wasn't quite able to answer before."

"Yeah?" I said. "Like what?"

"Your parents," she said. "Just for instance. I know when they were born, when and where they met. Everything about their lives." She raised an eyebrow. "Did you know your mother was a follower of Lustrum when she was in college?"

"Yeah," I said. "She used to talk about it sometimes. About how it's dangerous to let others tell you how to think."

She nodded. "That's true. But when Lustrum started inciting them to attack men, she got clear of the movement."

I nodded. "She used to wonder sometimes if Lustrum really meant it to get that bad." I squeezed her hand.

She smiled. "For something closer to home, how about Coil? I'm sure there's questions you have about him."

* * *

And so, I sat back against warm stone, and held Lisa's hands, as the sun crept down in the sky. She reeled off facts and figures about Coil, as well as Brockton Bay's finest and not so fine, stretching back years, decades. It seemed to make her happy to be able to shock me with her newfound knowledge.

She grew weaker as time passed, and I had to lean forward to hear her whispered words.

Eventually, she stopped to catch her breath during an admittedly fascinating description of how the Travellers got to Earth Bet from Earth Aleph, and how a girl named Noelle Meinhardt became the monster called Echidna.

"Lisa," I said softly. "You can stop now. Please."

She smiled up at me. "It's kind of a relief, to be able to say, enough," she breathed. "I've told my tales. Now I can rest."

My tears ran down my face. "Lisa … I…"

"Taylor," she whispered, her eyes huge in the gathering dusk. Her hand rose, wavering, to touch my cheek, to wipe away the tears it found there. "You kissed me once before, to cure the memory plague. Kiss me again, before I go?"

I leaned forward, kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood.

"Huh." Her voice was barely audible. "Nice."

And then she stopped speaking. Stopped breathing. Stopped doing everything a living person does.

* * *

I cried, then, as I closed her eyes.

Cried as I tore the sleeve from my ruined costume, ripped it down its length to make a spread of cloth to cover her face.

Cried as I carefully stacked stones over her corpse.

Covered her face last.

My last friend.

My best friend.

Dead.

-ooo-

I determined that I would die there too.

After all, there was no point in getting up. For maybe half a mile all around, the devastation continued unabated. My bugs had found no living people, barely even parts of corpses. In my meanderings before I found Lisa, I had seen no hint of the cityscape, the landscape, that had been there before. It was like a terrible war had raged for years over that area of land, and everything had been smashed, pulverised, buried, excavated, and then beaten flat again.

Behemoth's rage, his power, must have been … incandescent.

I wondered that, even under a dozen yards of rock, I had survived.

Well, not for much longer.

Whoever found me, would find me here.

I regretted that I had crossed her hands over her chest before I piled stones on her, because I would have appreciated holding her hand again.

I watched the sun go down into a purple-red dusk, a huge pall of smoke overhead. The stars did not come out; they could not. The smoke and dust were too thick.

I coughed. A chilly wind was whipping across the devastation, picking up dust, causing me to huddle into myself in my thin, torn costume.

The wind picked up more sharply, sending grit stinging against my exposed skin; I covered my eyes.

What the hell was going on here? It felt like some sort of storm was kicking up, right next to where I was. Even dying, I wasn't to be left in peace.

"Seriously?" I yelled, and coughed again. I covered my mouth with my other hand. "Fucking _seriously?"_

And then there was a sharp _crack,_a flash of light, the wind died … and he was standing there.

Phir Sē.

Dishevelled body, opulent clothes and all.

He looked just a little more haggard, a little more drawn, a little more disarranged than before.

My heart had lifted on hearing Lisa's voice. Seeing her face.

It did nothing at all when I saw him.

"What the _fuck,"_ I grated, "are you doing here? What happened? Did your one big shot not work as well as advertised?"

"It should have worked," he said dully. "But the monster was the greater. It took my power, and used it. Sought to kill me. I only escaped by stepping through time, as you see."

"So you made him _stronger_, and more able to kill," I said flatly.

He nodded.

A long silence passed between us.

"Well?" I asked.

"Well, what?" he asked.

"What the fuck are you going to do to _fix_ your fucking mess?" I yelled.

He looked at me and spread his long hands. "I have used much of my power. It needs to recoup. Stepping through time … is not easy."

"So you can't just build another fucking time bomb and scorch his ass to small pieces, then?" I asked him.

"I do not know how to locate him. My base, my equipment, is gone," he said. "Rocks were falling when I stepped. My teleporting friend, I fear, is dead."

_"Fuck," _I ground out.

"I can do one thing," he said in his accented English.

"What's that?" I asked incautiously.

He smiled. "I can send someone back in time to warn about this, so that it never happens."

I frowned. "You mean me."

He gestured to the horizon of blasted, scorched rock, barely visible in the shadowed night. "I see no other volunteers."

"What makes you think I'm going to fucking _volunteer_ to get sent on a one-way trip back in time?" I growled.

He leaned forward. "Back then …" he said gently. "Your friends are all still alive."

And there he had me. I couldn't go forward. I had not the energy.

But if he sent me _back …_

I could fix things.

Fix it so this shit never happened.

Fix it so we _won_ next time.

Painfully, feeling every creak and crackle, I pushed myself to my feet.

"Right," I said. "Do I need to do anything special?"

He shook his head. "No," he told me. "Just stand there. The effect will take a little while to take hold. It might help to breathe deeply."

I started breathing deeply, while shimmers of his power began to build up around me. The wind started kicking up again, the grit once more stinging my skin, the chill making me goosepimple. I wrapped my arms around me, looked down at Lisa's grave.

_Bye, Lisa,_ I told her silently. _Thanks for … everything._

While I was thinking about it, I told everyone else goodbye as well. Brian, Alec, Aisha, Rachel. Dennis, Weld, Missy, Lily, Sabah.

* * *

The power nimbus around me was making it quite hard to see what was going on outside. Directly overhead, I could see a spiral swirl in the clouds of smoke. Centred on _me_. That was more than a little sobering.

"How far back am I going?" I called against the hum of his power effect. "Couple of months, a year?"

"Oh my, no," he replied, his very white teeth flashing in the glow of his own power. "I am sending you back twenty years."

My mind short-circuited. _He did __**not j**__ust say twenty ye-_

I went.

-ooo-

It was a good thing that I had been breathing deeply, because I fell in the ocean.

Water went in my eyes, up my nose, and into my mouth. But I wasn't immediately out of breath, so I was able to gather my wits, tread water, and try to get my bearings.

It was night time, and I was in the ocean, in the tattered remains of my costume, which even now were being worried and torn away by surging waves. Under which was my, well, underwear. Which, while it made reasonable swimwear, was not best suited for holding in body heat. And this water was _cold._

But I didn't have an option. Already, the remains of my costume were becoming waterlogged, dragging me down. My armour panels were the worst culprits. I could hardly stay afloat; finding the zipper, I pulled it down, wriggled out of the costume. It sank without a trace. I struggled to keep my head above water.

Out of nowhere, a white hull came slicing past me, heeled far over in the (I realised) howling wind and driving rain. I could have put out my hand and touched it. But in another moment, it was gone.

And a moment later, from the direction it had gone, I heard a terrible splintering crash.

Lightning briefly illuminated the scene, like God's own flash photography. I saw two boats, sailing yachts by the rigging, locked together and slowly sinking.

A wave slapped me in the face, and I choked and went under for a moment, before clawing my way back to the surface again. My glasses were gone, lost to the waves.

I had no idea where I was, no idea which way shore was, and no idea where even the nearest non-sinking boat was.

And then an actinic glare washed over me, pinned me to the surface of the water like a bug to corkboard. I heard a distant shout, and a foghorn. Then the rumble of engines, and a much larger craft shouldered its way through the waves toward me.

I was spending all my time staying afloat, so I had no time to wave. Besides, waving involves lifting one's arms out of the water, when they are much better employed keeping one's head out of the water.

But they'd seen me, and they were coming for me.

I never saw the chunk of wreckage behind me. Just as the rescue boat pulled up alongside me, there was a tremendous smash to the back of my head.

I struggled feebly to swim, to keep my head above water, to reach the boarding net. My fingers tangled in rough fibres, but I had no strength.

A massive splash beside me. Then a strong arm holding me tightly, while another hung on to a rope that was steadily hauled upward. A warm, kindly voice. "I've got you. You'll be fine, now."

A _familiar _voice.

And then I knew nothing.

-ooo-

I awoke in a cramped bunk, wrapped in heavy blankets. Despite them, I shivered. The warmth in me had fled with the immersion in the chilly ocean water. But feeling was starting to return.

The bunk rocked back and forth, back and forth. I could feel the thrumming of powerful engines through my spine. I decided that I liked it. I loved boats, especially rescue boats.

There was a constriction about my head, pressure on the side of my face. I wormed my hand up under the blankets, touched –

"Careful, you don't want to loosen the bandage."

The voice was maddeningly familiar. I gave up my attempt to see what had happened to my head, and looked around. My head immediately began to ache strenuously.

The young man who sat there in his ill-fitting storm gear could not have been more than nineteen. He was slender, dark-haired and fresh-faced and wore what my fuzzy eyes interpreted as an anxious expression.

"Hi," I said, faintly.

He smiled. It was like the sun coming out. I frowned. I was looking at him mostly upside down and sideways, not to mention without my glasses, but the face – I _knew_ that face.

"Hi," he replied. "How are you feeling? You took quite a knock to the head."

"I'll tell you once my brain decides to stop rattling," I said. "Are you the one …"

"Who jumped in after you?" he asked, then blushed. "Yeah, that was me."

"Thanks," I told him feelingly. "My name's Taylor," I said. "What's yours?"

"Danny," he said. "Danny Hebert."

* * *

End of Part 1-0


	2. Chapter 2

-ooo-

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 1-1: Recollections

* * *

I stared for a moment. "I'm sorry - _what_ did you say?"

"Danny Hebert," he said, just a little defensively. "It's my name."

"Oh," I said weakly.

_Shit,_ I thought. _It's really him._I knew that bewildered look too well, even half upside down and without my glasses. This was too much to deal with, all at once. I closed my eyes for just a second, tried to clear my spinning thoughts.

* * *

When I opened them again, the cabin was dark and my only companions were the thrumming of the engines and the smell of sea salt.

I'd had concussions before; the symptoms were not unfamiliar to me. Which helped make the transition, the sense of lost time, a little less jarring. But not much.

_Fucking concussions._

It took me a few moments to realise that the blankets had been drawn up to my chin. _That must have been Danny – Dad._

I could just see him doing that, I really could. Even twenty years younger, my Dad was still a gentle, caring man. _Only ..._and here my stomach gave a lurch totally unconnected with the movement of the boat_... only this wasn't a caring gesture to his daughter. He doesn't __**know**__ me. He's just being nice to the girl whose life he saved._

Which drew attention to the other elephant in the room. _This wasn't a joke. Phir Sē really did send me back twenty years._

_Fuck._

_Okay, how do I deal with this?_

I took a deep breath. _One step at a time. I'm a time traveller with no way back, and a minor to boot. I have exactly zero documentation here and now. No official existence. This could be a problem._

Gingerly, I reached up, felt the back of my head. There was a bandage that went right around my skull, with a thick pad back there. It was tender, but not overly painful. But the impact had been enough to give me what I hoped was a relatively mild concussion.

_Which could give me an out, if I play this right._

However, I did have my other hole card. My powers. Control of insects, which, at this moment, extended to simple marine life.

Cautiously, I extended my powers. I didn't want anyone seeing something strange.

Puzzled, I frowned; I wasn't picking up any bugs on the boat at all. _That's weird._ Had they disinfected it before they set off? It didn't seem likely.

And then I saw a fly buzzing across the cabin, zig-zagging with the motion of the boat. I focused my attention on it. Nothing. It didn't alter course, and I couldn't sense it.

_What the _**_fuck?_**

And then the realisation hit me.

When Phir Sē sent me back in time, he had also cut me off from my powers. They were gone. I had no access to them.

_Fuck._

_How the fuck do I deal with this?_

I was still trying to figure that one out when I fell asleep again.

This time, however, I didn't simply have a moment of missed time.

This time, I dreamed.

-ooo-

_Lisa and I sat atop the square-sided chunk of rock that had killed her in reality, our legs dangling over the side. Below our feet was a mound of rubble; I did not want to see what it concealed._

_We were holding hands, just as we had done ... before. Before she died._

_**This is a dream, **__I said. __**You died. **__My voice echoed hollowly in my head._

_She gave me that irritating vulpine grin of hers. "Well, duh," she agreed readily. "This isn't really happening. It's just your subconscious working things out for itself."_

_**Yeah well ... **__I said awkwardly. __**I miss you so goddamn much**__._

_She squeezed my hand. "I know," she said. "And I appreciate it."_

_**There's a logical flaw there somewhere ... **__I said slowly._

_"Silly Taylor," she said fondly. "Logic doesn't belong in dreams." She reached up to her throat with her free hand, and worked the bloodstained bandage off of it._

_I looked curiously at her. There wasn't a mark on her throat, now. __**What was the bandage for? **__I asked._

"_Oh," she said off-handedly. "You remember the guy Cody from what I was telling you about the Travellers?"_

_I nodded. __**Vaguely, **__I replied._

"_Yeah," she said. "Well, he fucked up and they basically sold him to Accord. Accord sold him on to the Yàngbǎn. He was pissed about that, so he went and wounded Chevalier pretty badly, and killed Accord. Crushed my windpipe, so I had to give myself a tracheotomy."_

_She gave me her fox-like grin. "No fun, let me tell you. For a moment there, I thought he was going to kill me anyway. Then he left. They found me, gave me field surgery, so I could breathe normally. And then Behemoth did his thing and the place fell down anyway."_

_**Damn, **__I said. __**Okay. I have a problem. You're the smartest person in the room. I've lost my powers. How do I go from here? What do I do? How do I fix this?**_

_"Oh, Taylor," she whispered. "Weren't you listening? I already told you how."_

_I blinked as sand stung my eye. __**You knew this was going to happen? **__I asked._

_She grinned again. "Didn't I tell you? I know so much more than I did before."_

_**That's not an answer, **__I replied. The wind was whipping up, sand obscuring the sun._

_"I know," she said softly. Her voice was getting very faint._

_**What's happening? **__I asked in alarm._

_She looked at me, her eyes large and sad. "You're waking up. Kiss before I go?"_

_I leaned over and kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood._

-ooo-

I opened my eyes with a gasp, sat half-upright in bed.

A stranger, a woman sat back with a start. She held a stethoscope in one hand.

"Christ," she said. "You gave me a fright. Do you always come awake like that?"

"Who are you?" I asked warily, evading the question. "Where's the boy?"

"The boy - oh, you mean young Hebert.". She smiled. "He's helping out on deck. Oh sorry, my name's Nina. Nina Veder. I'm what passes for the ship's doctor.". A conspiratorial grin. "Just an EMT, but I volunteered, so here I am."

_Veder? As in __**Greg **__Veder?_

I searched her features. As far as I could tell without my glasses, they were good-natured, open, friendly. She looked to be in her early thirties.

She blinked a little at my intense scrutiny. "What?"

I let my eyes drop away. "I ... thought for a moment that you looked familiar. That I might know you. I don't. Sorry.". Extracting my arm from under the covers, I scrubbed at my eyes with the back of my hand. "I think I need glasses or something. Or is blurry vision a side effect of whatever happened to me?"

She frowned. "You don't _remember?"_

I shook my head. "I'm sorry. I've been trying really hard, to remember anything at all, and all I've been getting out of it is a headache."

"Stop trying," she said at once. "Don't force it. Danny - the Hebert boy - told me you said your name was Taylor. Do you remember doing that?"

I nodded. I couldn't very well deny it. "That's about all I _am_ sure of."

She nodded in return. "Well, here we have a bit of a puzzle. You undoubtedly came out of the water. But none of the yachts have any 'Taylor' listed as a crew member. Or anyone with Taylor as a surname, for that matter."

She frowned. "What's more, everyone else we pulled from the water was fully dressed. _You_ were in your underwear, and you have bruises and cuts – on you that you didn't get from being in the water."

She gave me a searching look. "Do you remember _anything_ about what happened to you?"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry," I said. I was being sincere; Nina Veder was a nice person, no matter what I might think of her distant relative Greg. She didn't deserve to be lied to.

But in order to secure the survival of the human race, I decided coldly. I would lie and cheat and kill if I had to. Lisa deserved a second chance; so did Brian, Alec, Aisha and Rachel.

Me? I was _on _my second chance.

Even if I didn't have my powers any more. I'd have to make this work _somehow._ The world was more or less depending on me.

-ooo-

Moments later, the cabin became remarkably crowded with the entry of two more people. One was Danny; immediately preceding him was a large, heavy-set man with a salt-and-pepper beard. I squinted; without my glasses, it was hard to tell, but …

"I'm George Hebert, master of the _Ocean Road_," announced the bearded man. He had the sort of personality that fills even a large room; in this cramped cabin, his presence was almost overpowering. And I knew him also; not as well as I knew Danny, but I did know him.

"So you're the little thing Danny-boy pulled from the ocean," he said directly to me.

Danny's parents had had him relatively late in life; George, my grandfather, was forty-two when Danny was born, and his wife Dorothy ("call me Dot") was thirty-eight.

I nodded. "Uh – yes, sir," I replied meekly.

George Hebert had suffered a stroke and died when I was about ten. His wife had survived him by six months before quietly passing away in her sleep. I had met them a few times, but not often and not for long; George had never approved of Mom, and so relations had been strained.

"So what the _fuck_," he said bluntly, "were you doing in the water in your fucking skivvies, not even a fucking life jacket? Were you _trying_ to commit suicide or something?"

Like Dad, he had apparently had a bit of a temper. Unlike Dad, he was not afraid to show it.

I lowered my eyes. "I don't know," I said softly. "I can't remember."

He grabbed my shoulders and shook me – actually _shook_ me. My teeth rattled in my head.

"Can't _remember?_ You stupid little idiot! Because of you, my only son jumped overboard in a howling storm to save your sorry ass. Both of you could have fucking drowned, because you couldn't take _basic fucking precautions!"_

"Captain!" snapped Nina Veder. "Leave her alone! She's got some sort of amnesia, and you're _not helping!"_She grabbed his wrists and pulled his hands off me, then pushed him by main force back toward the entryway. He seemed taken aback; this was probably the only thing that allowed her to move him at all.

Danny stepped in closer. "Sorry about Dad," he said quietly. "He's a bit … high-strung."

I mustered a grateful smile for him, but mainly I was trying to listen in on the conversation that Nina was having with Danny's father. She was trying to keep her voice down, but the cabin was not large.

"She's got unusual injuries," she was explaining in an undertone. "She can't remember anything before being pulled on board. I think she may have been abducted, kept on one of the yachts …" Still taking, she pushed him out the door.

Danny smiled back at me. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Your head all right? You caught it a terrific bump back there."

I shrugged. "I'm getting better." Of its own accord, my hand crept from under the covers and grasped his. "I want to thank you for saving my life."

He gulped and squeezed my hand, his face turning red.

"I'm just glad I was there at the right time," he mumbled.

"So am I," I replied fervently. "So am I."

He sat by my bed, and held my hand as if it were his most precious possession.

"So where are you from?" he asked, at length.

I shook my head. "I don't know," I said. "Nina – Ms Veder – seems to think I've got some sort of amnesia from that bump on the head. All I know is my name, and that's about it."

"Oh Christ," he said, looking stricken. "I'm so sorry, Taylor."

I smiled at him. "Don't worry about it, Danny. I'm sure it will all come good. Actually, you can help me with something there. What's the date today?"

I had a halfway suspicion that I knew. Danny's next words confirmed it.

"Nineteenth of October, why?"

I made my face a blank. "I thought it might help me remember something, anything."

"Did it?" he asked eagerly.

I shook my head; his face fell. "Sorry, Danny. But thanks for trying." I smiled again. "And at least I know something now that I didn't before."

I knew a lot that I hadn't known earlier. I knew the date, and I knew the year.

-ooo-

Wednesday, October eighteen, nineteen eighty-nine. A large regatta of ocean-going racing yachts had been hit by an unseasonal storm ranging in off the Atlantic. Within minutes, most were damaged and foundering. Rescue boats had put out from Brockton Bay and other communities along the coast; due to the short notice, they had been woefully undercrewed, taking any volunteers who could perform essential duties.

George Hebert had captained one of these boats, the one I was on now. I had not known, though, that Danny had volunteered to go out with his boat on this specific occasion.

Most of the yachts had sunk without a trace; quite a few of the crews had gone down with them. The survivors had told of utter chaos on the water, of collisions and near misses as they tried to keep way on so as not to broach and go under.

I could well believe it, now. It was into that hell that Phir Sē had dropped me. And I would have died there, had it not been for the _Ocean Road_, and the heroism of Danny Hebert.

I had a great deal to think about. But at least now I knew where I was starting from.

_I have a lot of planning to do._

-ooo-

By the time the _Ocean Road_ neared the coast, I felt well enough to get out on deck. Danny was the only person on board who was anywhere near my size, so I wore a pair of his trousers with the belt pulled in to the last notch, and a pullover that would have made me a good-sized tent.

The rest of the survivors that had been pulled on board the _Ocean Road_ were men and women of mature age, and they eyed me with puzzlement, obviously having no idea where I came into the situation. I preferred not to let the matter come up, sticking as close to Danny as I could, to discourage questions.

"Why are you squinting?" he asked, as we peered toward the coast.

"My eyes are all blurry," I replied truthfully. "I think I need glasses or something."

"Wait here," he said, and disappeared below. I did as he said; it was nice, to be out in the sunlight, to taste the sea air.

A line from the Bible passed through my mind. _Those that go down to the sea in ships …_

In a very short time, he reappeared, with something in his hand. "Here," he said. "Try these."

I took them; they were glasses.

"I can't take your glasses," I said. "You need them."

"Spare pair," he told me. "See if they help."

Such was his eagerness to be of assistance, I agreed. When I fitted them over my face, my vision cleared. They weren't perfect, but they were close enough to my prescription that it helped a lot.

I looked at his face, seeing it clearly for the first time. The anxious expression, eager to please.

Paradoxically, now that I could see him more clearly, the less he looked like how I remembered my father; the general lines of resemblance were subsumed in the finer detail, the flushed cheeks, the full head of hair, the puppy-dog look.

"Well?" he asked, after I had not spoken for several moments.

"They're perfect," I said quietly. "Thank you."

Stretching up – I was tall for my age, but then, so was he – I kissed him on the cheek. He blushed crimson.

We looked at each other clearly for the first time. I forgot that he was supposed to grow up to become my father; right at that moment, he was the gawky teenage boy who had risked his life to pull me from the water, who had gifted me with sight once more.

A wordless moment hung between us, stretched.

And then, whoever was in the wheelhouse had obviously spotted us, because a moment later, the foghorn cut loose. We both jumped and laughed. The moment passed, and we turned to look forward over the bow once more.

-ooo-

The storm had blown over, leaving skies clear and blue. Under our feet, the boat moved forward at a fast clip, hitting the waves and cleaving through them in a barrage of spray. Breathing deep of the moisture-laden air, I stood up toward the bow with Danny as he told me about Brockton Bay.

Even allowing for a hometown boy's pride, he painted a glorious picture. Business was booming, there were no gangs to speak of – even Lung was no doubt an intractable child in Japan at the moment – and things were looking up.

I was going over the gradually growing 'to-do' list in my head – adding 'make sure my parents meet at the right time' – when I gradually became aware that there was something missing from the harbour as the Ocean Road made its way into Brockton Bay proper. Something off to the right, to the north, wasn't right.

I had already realised that the Protectorate base in the Bay wouldn't be there - the Protectorate didn't even_exist_ yet - but this was something else.

It took me a moment or two to figure it out, from this angle. I could see merchant ships, container ships, tied up at dockside, loading or unloading cargoes. Doing business. Steaming out to sea, or coming in to port. And then, like one of those puzzles where you have to hold your eyes just right, it clicked into perspective.

The Boat Graveyard wasn't there. Lord's Port was still in full operation.

All my life, the Graveyard had been a blight, an eyesore, on the city. All those ships, unable to sail away, gradually taking on water, sinking at their moorings. Gradually releasing pollution into the Bay.

And now – it had never been. There was the possibility that it never _would_ be.

Something to think about.

-ooo-

As the _Ocean Road_ neared its berth, I was startled to see a brightly coloured craft chugging its way across the Bay, heading from right to left. It seemed so different from the rest of the water traffic, neither inbound nor outbound.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing.

"Oh," said Danny cheerfully. "That's the ferry. We can go on it later, if you want. It's a fun ride. It's been in continuous operation for …"

* * *

I tuned him out. This was _the_ ferry, upon which my father would strive against bureaucratic indifference and stonewalling, year after year, trying to get reinstated. Here, it was in its heyday.

Here was Brockton Bay itself, in its heyday.

The ferry was just a symbol of that, minor but important.

_I can see it all,_ I realised. _I can see the way it was, the way it might become._

_I can change things._

It was a sobering thought.

_But can I change them for the better, or will I change them for the worse?_

_And what can I actually accomplish without powers?_

It was an even more sobering thought.

* * *

End of Part 1-1


	3. Chapter 3

-ooo-

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 1-2: Things Change

* * *

The _Ocean Road_ came in to the jetty to a small crowd of onlookers; mainly friends and family of the crew, and of the rescuees. I was fairly certain of one thing; I wouldn't see anyone that I knew from my life in Brockton Bay. Not from twenty years in the past.

Leaning on the rail, I watched as Danny went off on his father's orders to perform some nautical task farther along the deck. I couldn't be sure, but it seemed to me that the older men were treating him with a modicum of respect, slapping him on the shoulder and calling him 'Dan' rather than 'Danny boy'. It seemed that risking his life to save a teenage girl from the ocean had marked some obscure rite of passage among them.

* * *

Nina Veder came up alongside me just as I turned to watch the dockside come closer. "You've got glasses," she observed.

"Yes," I agreed. "Danny Hebert loaned a spare pair to me."

"And you can see properly through them?" she asked, with mild surprise.

"Almost," I admitted. "I'm still getting a little bit of blurriness, but it's not nearly as bad."

"That's still a little bit of a fortunate coincidence," she said. "That you can see through his glasses at all, I mean."

"I'm not arguing with that," I agreed untruthfully. Dad had always needed stronger lenses than mine, but of course his eyes had been getting worse with age. It made a certain amount of sense that our prescriptions were similar at such a close age. "I wouldn't have asked, but he did offer, and they do help a lot."

"He's a nice boy, isn't he?" she asked casually.

"Yes," I agreed candidly, turning to face her. My hair whipped across my face in the freshening breeze, and I tucked it behind my ear. "He's nice and sweet and kind. I like him."

"Just 'like'?" she pressed gently.

"Just 'like'," I assured her with a smile. Her expression, which I would not have been able to pick without the borrowed glasses, was appraising, speculative. Upon closer examination, I still could not find any trace of the features of her as yet unborn relative, which was good. I liked Nina Veder; she was firm and kind and stood up for her patients.

"It's not unusual for people in your circumstance to latch on to the first person to show them kindness, to try to form an instant attachment," she observed, her eyes on the approaching dockside.

"Sorry to disappoint," I returned, not sure where this was going.

"Oh, I'm not disappointed," she replied. "I'm intrigued. I want to find out what your life was like, before, that you're so self-possessed now. What challenges you've overcome that lets you face this one without worry."

_Fuck,_ I thought. _She's too damn perceptive. I wonder if Lisa was like this before she triggered?_

The thought of Lisa, dead in my arms just a few days past by my reckoning, filled my eyes with tears.

"Ch-challenges?" I managed.

She was perceptive, all right. She noticed me tearing up almost immediately, and I found a handkerchief in my hand before I could even start to sniffle.

"Sorry ... sorry," she said as she put her arm around me. The warm gesture, totally unlike Danny's gift of the glasses, undid me altogether. I had just enough self-control to pull off the glasses before I was crying in great gulping sobs, getting the shoulder of Nina's coat thoroughly damp with more than sea spray.

"It's okay," she told me. "It's okay. We'll get this all sorted out. We'll find your family for you, Taylor. It's okay."

I wasn't crying about that, of course, but I found it convenient to let her think so. I'd thought I had cried myself out when I buried Lisa, but apparently I had been wrong. Or maybe it was the concussion manifesting as more mood swings.

_Fucking concussions._

-ooo-

By the time I had finished and was wiping my eyes and nose, we were tied up at the jetty. The sun was bright overhead, seagulls were circling and screaming, gentle waves were lapping at the pier, and it looked like a gorgeous day for Brockton Bay.

Meanwhile, I had puffy eyes, a red nose, and my hair looked a fright. _Way to make a good first impression._

I had expected somehow to walk off the rescue boat with Danny, but Nina Veder had her hand on my arm. "I've been in contact with the shore," she explained. "If you're a missing person, maybe we can find out where you're missing _from."_ She gestured, and I saw a police car pulled up at the end of the jetty. _Great, now they'll think I'm some kind of criminal._

"Can I just tell Danny where I'm going?" I asked. "And see if he wants his glasses back?"

Nina nodded. "Good idea," she said. But she followed me along the deck to where Danny was working.

He turned to look at me. "Oh hey, Taylor," he said cheerfully. "Wow, what's up? You look like you've been crying."

I shook my head. "It's not important," I told him. "Look, Ms Veder and I are going to talk to the police, see if they can figure out who I really am." I took the glasses off, and everything went fuzzy. "Do you want these back, or can I keep them a bit longer?"

He waved them away. "Keep 'em," he said magnanimously. "You can give them back when you get a new pair."

I smiled. "Thanks, Danny. Uh, how can I get in touch with you?"

"Uh –" he began.

Nina stepped in. "I know the Heberts," she told me. "I'll be able to help you with that. But right now, we need to go and see if you match any missing-persons files."

"Okay," I said. "Bye, Danny. Thanks for everything." I didn't want to embarrass him with another kiss on the cheek, so I shook his hand, and moved with Nina to the gangplank that led on to the jetty.

As we walked along the jetty, passing people who were reuniting with their loved ones, I noticed one young man in his early twenties, with a woman at his side holding a baby. He was fairly heavily-built, and had bright red hair. He looked Nina over, then me, then straight on to where Danny was working on deck.

"Hey, Danny!" he bellowed, waving his hands over his head.

"Be right with you, Alan!" came the faint but distinct reply.

I didn't react. Red hair ... that _had_ to be Alan Barnes, Dad's former best friend. The infant couldn't be Emma; it would have to be her older sister ... what was her name again? I had forgotten.

In any case, I had been wrong. There _were_ people in Brockton Bay that I would know, that I had known in the future.

I wondered if I could use this in any way.

Without my powers, I needed every advantage I could get.

-ooo-

Nina Veder and I rode back to the Brockton Bay central police station in silence. I spent my share of time gawking out the window; the city was an odd blend of the familiar and the not so familiar, just enough to throw me off.

Those buildings and landmarks that I knew were ... newer. Fresher. Lacking twenty years of wear and tear – and in some places, neglect – they looked strange, even when I knew them. And some were missing altogether, of course. There was a bunch of low-rise office buildings where the Medhall Corporation complex should have been, and the Forsberg Gallery simply wasn't there at all.

And of course the lake Leviathan had left in the middle of the city wasn't there either. But then, I had seen that formed. I'd _been_ there when it was formed. I'd nearly drowned in the damned thing.

There was something else strange about the city, something that I couldn't place. It took me most of the car ride to work it out.

No gang tags.

* * *

I had grown up seeing E88 and ABB and Merchants tags on buildings. These were just ... absent. Some of the more run-down buildings had graffiti, but it was in no way near the volume that one would see on the same buildings in twenty years' time. But there was nothing there for any of the big gangs.

It took me a moment to figure it out, but then it was obvious. Kaiser would still be a boy, and so would Lung. Allfather would have needed his recruits to build his Empire.

This was Brockton Bay, cleaner, brighter, looking to the future.

I had seen that future. It wasn't anything to look forward to.

-ooo-

"What's the matter, Taylor?" asked Nina. I must have been looking pensive.

I shook my head. "Nothing," I said. "It's just ...weird. I keep feeling like I should know this city." I put a hopeful look on my face. "Could this mean I've been here before?"

She frowned. "Possibly, possibly not. Deja vu is a thing, after all. This could be your brain seizing on to what it sees in an attempt to find anything at all familiar in strange surroundings."

I nodded. "I guess. I still can't remember anything." I smiled at her. "But I can still remember being pulled on to the boat, so I guess that's a good thing."

She nodded. "It is. It means that whatever the cause of your amnesia, it's strictly retrograde."

"Retrograde?" I asked.

Her voice took on a professorial tone. "Retrograde amnesia is where you can't recall anything before a certain point. Anterograde amnesia is where you have trouble forming new memories."

I shivered. "That second one sounds nasty. Can you have both at the same time?"

She nodded. "There was a case where a man had both, after a botched surgery. Not only did he lose the two years of his life prior to the surgery, but he could never remember anything that happened to him after the surgery."

I looked at her. "You're not just an EMT, are you?"

She grinned suddenly. "Well, there's nothing wrong with _your_ ability to join the dots. No, I'm a psychologist in my day job. I just also work as an EMT on a volunteer basis."

"And now I'm your new pet project," I said flatly.

Her eyes twinkled. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

I wasn't quite sure how to respond to that, so I let it be. Besides, I had other things to worry about, and only a short time to figure out how to get around them.

We rode the rest of the way in silence.

-ooo-

"Name?" asked the police sergeant as he filled in the fingerprint form.

"Taylor Snow," I responded as if automatically, then blinked. I turned slowly to Nina, who was staring at me. "My last name," I said. "I remembered my last name."

Mentally, I apologised to the author of the _Ice &amp; Fire _short stories; I understand his Earth Aleph counterpart would write those stories into complete novels. But the naming system for royal bastards had stuck in my mind. And they wouldn't come out for another few years, so no-one should get suspicious. I hoped.

Nina smiled. "That's marvellous, Taylor!" she said happily.

I nodded, my own smile matching hers. "Maybe they can find out where I come from, now," I agreed.

Not that I had any intention of _that_ happening.

-ooo-

For some reason, I had envisaged a police interrogation room, stern officers surrounding me, probing me with awkward questions.

The reality was much different.

I sat in a comfortable chair in a conference room like virtually any other. Nina sat beside me; I had a steaming cup of tea in front of me.

Opposite us were two police officers, one male and one female. Their questions were gently worded, and directed as much to Nina as to me.

I didn't look quite as much the invalid as I had on the boat; Nina had changed my dressings and decided that the bump on the back on my head had gone down sufficiently. While the cut on my left cheek still needed a covering, it was much less prominent than before. Nina had told me that it would leave a scar, but that it would fade with age. I wasn't overly worried.

"So how do you know your name is Taylor Snow?" pressed the male officer.

I shrugged. "Taylor's what came to mind when I went to tell him my name, and Snow just popped out when I wasn't thinking about it," I said.

"Tell who?" asked the female officer.

"That would be young Danny Hebert, the one who rescued her," put in Nina.

"He was the first one she spoke to?" asked the female officer. "Perhaps we should speak to him."

I smiled wryly. "Probably not necessary. From what I recall, I told him my name, he told me his, then I closed my eyes for a second and opened them an hour later."

They both looked at Nina. She nodded. "She's been suffering from a mild concussion, but the symptoms seem to have more or less abated."

"So this Danny Hebert didn't know her from before the incident?" asked the male officer.

"He says not," confirmed Nina. "She was a stranger to everyone aboard ... including the yacht crewmembers we rescued."

Both officers looked at me. I shrank a little in my seat, under the combined stare.

"According to them, of course," she amended her statement.

They didn't have pictures of all the yacht crews, but they brought in as many as they could, faxed in from various locations. I looked at them each in turn. None, of course, were familiar to me. However, I frowned once or twice over pictures of people I knew were from yachts which had gone down with all hands.

"I'm sorry," I said, handing the last one back. "Some of these, maybe ... but nothing definite."

I had been brought sandwiches with my second cup of tea, and I nibbled one now.

"Taylor," said the female police officer suddenly, "do you believe you were abducted?"

I thought about that, then looked at her. "I don't know. I don't think so. Ms Veder found bruising on me, and there's the cut on my face, but ... I could have gotten that being tossed around inside a yacht in heavy weather, right?"

Both officers looked at one another, then back at me. "It's plausible," said Nina carefully. "What are you saying, that you might have been on one of the boats voluntarily?"

"It's a possibility," I pointed out. "Say I was the girlfriend of one of the crewmembers. I'm fairly sure I'm not eighteen yet, so it would cause problems if anyone else knew about me, so the crew kept it a secret that I was on board. It's night time, I'm trying to sleep, the yacht gets in trouble, I get thrown around, I struggle out as it sinks, and I get picked up by Captain Hebert's boat."

There was silence as I finished speaking, then went back to my sandwich. Ham and tomato. Not bad, actually.

Nina and the two officers looked at one another.

"It's definitely plausible," said the male officer.

"Fits all the available facts," added the female officer.

"But it still leaves the question of _who_ Taylor Snow is," said Nina. "Where she's from."

"Well, we're checking around for missing persons reports, but nothing's come through with her description on it yet," said the male officer.

"Why don't you put it on-" I said, and stopped. I had been just about to say 'put it online', but I recalled just in time that 'online' barely meant anything in this day and age.

Nina looked at me. "Put it on what, Taylor?"

I hunched my shoulders. "It's just a stupid idea," I muttered.

"No," she said. "It's not a stupid idea until someone says it's stupid."

I shook my head. "I was just going to say, why don't you put my face on milk cartons, like they do with missing kids, but in reverse."

The male officer frowned. "We _could_. But ... "

I nodded, caught his drift. "But then any creeper who wanted to get access to a teenage girl with no memory could just pretend to be my dad or uncle or whatever."

Both Nina and the female officer gave me appraising looks. I sipped my tea, and pretended not to notice.

-ooo-

"But how could she simply ... _not exist?"_ asked Dorothy, Danny's mother.

"I've seen it before," said Nina. "Hospital records are damaged or destroyed, people fall through the cracks all the time. Snow might not even be her recorded last name; her mother may have divorced and reverted to her maiden name."

"And you think this happened here?" asked George gruffly.

She nodded. "It's the only feasible explanation. I've heard of any number of cases of children, her age and younger, who only enter the system when they end up in court. I've handled a few, assessing their mental state for trial purposes."

I sat quietly on the sofa with Danny, while the adults talked in the kitchen.

"So what's going to happen now?" he asked quietly.

I sighed. "Ms Veder says it'll be another twenty-four to forty-eight hours before they get back all the replies they're going to get. So I'm sort of in limbo till then."

"Damn," he said. "That sucks."

I nodded. "She says that if I had been reported missing, the police would have gotten the notification by now. Whoever my parents are, if they're still alive even, they either don't know I'm missing, or don't care."

"So where does that leave you?" he asked.

"Well, once they make sure I don't have a criminal record ..." I began.

He snorted. "You, a criminal?"

I chuckled. "Yeah, me. Taylor Snow, criminal warlord of Brockton Bay." _God, if only he knew._

A mental pause. _He did know, once upon a time._

_And he accepted me, even then. Even when I had kept it from him._

Danny was studying me intently. "You looked so serious all of a sudden. What is it?"

I shook my head. "I was just thinking, I can't imagine being a criminal." I shrugged. "Anyway, once they clear that possibility, they can start working out what documents they can get issued to me by court order, and I stop being a non-person again." I rolled my eyes. "So I can have the right to attend school, apply for work, and pay taxes. Whee."

"Yeah, whee," he agreed. Our eyes met, and I met his grin with my own.

Danny and I had always been able to connect on a certain level, even when he was my father. Now, he was my contemporary, but that connection was still there.

It was a good feeling to have. Unfortunately, it didn't last long.

In the kitchen, voices were being raised. Or rather, _a_ voice. That of George Hebert.

"You can't be serious! You want us to put her up _here?"_

"Now, now, dear," said Dorothy soothingly, "calm down. Your blood pressure, you know."

"Damn and blast my blood pressure, Dot!" snapped George. "Why can't the girl stay with you, Nina?"

"Because my home situation is _unsuitable_ for a girl of her age," said Nina crisply. She looked to Dorothy. "You know who I live with."

"Ah," said Dorothy. "You have a point." She turned to George. "She has a point, dear."

Danny touched my arm. "We'd better go and sit on the steps or something," he murmured. "Let 'em think we heard nothing."

We rose, went out through the hall to the front steps. The bottom one, which would become rotten in later years, was perfectly sound, though it took an effort of will to rest my weight on it.

With the closed door at our backs, we sat down and looked out at the road.

"So what does Ms Veder mean, her home situation is unsuitable?" I asked.

He grinned. "Don't tell anyone, but Mom told me that she lives with a pair of, uh, you know, women who like women."

"What, lesbians?" I asked bluntly.

He nodded and flushed. "Mom doesn't like that word. But yes, them. They're apparently very ... strong-minded about it. And she occasionally has to bring a man home, just so they are aware that she isn't that way inclined."

"Oh," I said. Realisation dawned. "And if she brought a teenage girl home, however innocently ..."

He nodded. "Yeah. They'd get the wrong idea."

I raised an eyebrow. "Hm. That could pose difficulties." I decided to change the subject. "So, how long have you guys lived here? It's a nice house."

It was, of course the house I had grown up in. There were a few changes, or rather, a few things that would be changed in the next twenty years. The sofa was not made to fold out into a bed, for one thing. And the TV was the old-style cathode-ray type. Also, the paint job was different.

In many small ways, it was different_._

Not the same house.

But it was familiar enough to make me feel homesick.

* * *

"Oh," said Danny. "Dad bought it last year. It's real nice. I like it a lot better than the old place."

I patted the wall. "Yeah," I said. "I think I'd enjoy growing up in a place like this."

He looked at me, and didn't speak. I looked at him. The moment stretched.

"Taylor," he began. "I –"

And then the door behind us opened, and Dorothy stood there.

I didn't know for a fact what Danny was about to say, but I would have bet on it being remarkably awkward, and so I was quite glad of the interruption.

"Well, it's settled," she said brightly. "Taylor, you'll be staying with us for the next few days, at least until Ms Veder can arrange alternative accommodation for you. If that's all right with you, of course."

I rose and smiled at my grandmother. "Of course it's all right, Mrs Hebert," I said gratefully.

"Sweetie, you call me Dot, okay?" she scolded me gently.

I nodded my head. "Dot," I amended.

She smiled again. "That's better," she said. "Come on inside now. I'll show you where you'll be sleeping."

-ooo-

The bed in the upstairs spare room was narrower and harder than I recalled, but it was still quite serviceable. Nina helped Dot make it up for me, then hugged me goodbye.

"I'll be back in the morning, all right?" she said.

I nodded. "I'll see you then," I told her.

With another hug for Danny and a kiss on the cheek for Dot – George was still sulking in the kitchen – she left.

"Well," said Dot, brushing her hands off briskly. "Who's hungry?"

-ooo-

Dinner was a slightly strained affair; I spoke easily with Danny, and politely with Dot, but George was a glowering presence at the end of the table, one who was manifestly displeased at having his will overturned by two women. The fact that he was married to one of them was apparently not a mitigating circumstance.

After the meal was over, he stood abruptly. "Come on, Danny boy," he said. "Need a hand in the basement."

Whatever his personal flaws, George Hebert was a man who liked to work with his hands, and the downstairs workbench suited his purposes perfectly. In my day, it had been more or less disused; here and now, it had racks of tools over it, a vice, and several ongoing projects, each in their own space. I'm not much of a craftsperson myself, but I know good work when I see it.

* * *

So when he ordered Danny to go down with him, I was of course interested, and went to follow.

But Dot put her hand on my arm, and said quietly, "Best let the menfolk talk alone, dear. Help me with the washing?"

So I went and helped her wash the dishes. But the basement door let into the kitchen, and through it, I could hear the strong tones of George Hebert.

" ... don't care what you _think._ While she's in this house, you'll not go sniffing around after her, you hear?"

I didn't catch Danny's reply; the basement door was too thick. But I caught his father's next words.

"Call it what you will, boy. Now, you listen to me, and listen well. Yes, she'll be sleeping in the spare room tonight. But by the living Jesus, boy, if I catch you sneaking into her room, or her sneaking into your room, you will by God regret it. And so will she, because sixteen or no, homeless or no, if she breaks the rules of this house, she's out the front door, never to return!"

This time I heard Danny's voice; raised apparently in my defence, but not strongly enough to hear the actual words.

George's voice, however, came through loud and clear. "This is a Christian household, boy, and while you live under my roof, you will abide by my rules. Is that clear?" Danny must have mumbled something because he repeated himself, more loudly. "I said, is that _clear?"_

This time, he must have accepted the answer he got, because after a few moments, the basement door opened, and George came out. Danny followed him, and after one frightened look toward where we were innocently washing dishes, went and sat on the sofa. George went upstairs, and soon we heard the shower running.

Dot looked at me with a kindly expression. "Don't worry, dear," she said softly. "He's really a big softy underneath."

I nodded agreement, but underneath I wasn't so sure. George Hebert was a man with a lot of anger in him, and I doubted he rarely made threats that he did not carry out.

-ooo-

After washing up, I sat for a while on the sofa with Danny. By unspoken agreement, we kept a decorous distance between us, and kept the topics of conversation to strictly small talk. He didn't seem inclined to complete whatever statement he had been about to make out on the steps, which relieved me. After all, he was always going to be my father, even if this Danny would never be _my_ father. Any conversation along the lines that I suspected it was going to go would be incredibly awkward to at least one of us.

So eventually, I made my excuses and headed up to bed.

* * *

The bed, as noted, was hard and narrow, but I was worn out. Stripping down to my underwear, I lay down and pulled the covers over myself. And then I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the pad.

I wished I had not lost my powers. This far back? I would be one of the more accomplished capes around, in a fraternity that numbered a hundred at most. In fact, this was so far back that Vikare, the first superhero to appear after Scion, had been killed just earlier this year.

But when I tried experimentally, again, there was nothing there. My powers were gone, probably for good. Whatever gave them to me had been stranded in the future, twenty-two years away.

So there was nothing for it. I had to make do with what I had. Nina had loaned me the pad and pen, and I needed to write down everything I remembered. Everything Lisa had told me.

So I stared at the pad, and scribbled down stuff I recalled. I used the back of the pad, writing forward, and I used the simple cipher that I had devised for my original notepad, all those months ago.

But more often than not, I found myself drawing a blank. Lisa had told me lots of stuff, but in between the time travel, the ocean and the hit on the head, I was not retaining much of it. And I _needed_ this stuff. If I was going to change the world, I needed leverage. An edge. And that knowledge would give me the edge I needed.

If only I could remember it.

_Fuck._

* * *

End of Part 1-2


	4. Chapter 4

-ooo-

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 1-3: Oddities

* * *

_Brockton Bay was in flames. I watched, aghast, as the PRT building toppled and crashed on to its side; I could hear the Wards inside, screaming as the crumbling concrete and steel crushed them to death. The city was devastated from end to end. Behemoth towered over everything, destroying buildings, killing everyone who crossed his path._

_Alexandria swooped in to the attack._

_**No,**__ I told myself. __**Not Alexandria**__. I had killed her. Whoever this was, it wasn't Alexandria._

_He smashed her to the ground, crushed her underfoot. She didn't rise again._

_I had seen this coming. I had known this was to come. I stood on top of Captain's Hill and screamed,__**I'm a time traveller! I told you what was going to happen! Why didn't anyone listen to me?**_

_My dad was standing beside me. "Sorry, kiddo," he said sadly, "but time travel is impossible. Didn't you know?" He took off his glasses and handed them to me. I took them, uncomprehending, put them on. Seen through them, he was just nineteen or twenty, a younger version of himself._

_**But what does it mean?**__I asked._

_"What does anything mean?" he asked in return. He raised my chin in his hand; for a moment, I thought he was going to kiss me. But he was just studying my face. "You have a long, lonely road to travel, kiddo," he sad solemnly. "I don't understand it all, but I trust you. Listen to your friends."_

_And then he was seized from behind by a massive obsidian-clawed hand, and lifted into the air._

_**Dad**__!I screamed._

_Behemoth, wearing the face of Alan Barnes, leaned close to him. "Sorry, Danny," he said confidentially, "but I've got to protect my daughter.". He squeezed, there was a burst of flame, and my father screamed, burst to glowing ash, blew away on the wind._

_**No!**__I shouted. Behemoth turned back to me, now looking like Director Tagg. His face twisted with mindless hate as he looked at me._

_He took one step toward me, and then Bitch's dogs barrelled into him, knocked him down. He bellowed with rage, exploded them with lightning, and Rachel with them. "Stupid little girl," he said. "This is war." He laughed brutally, then it turned to a chuckle as Mr Gladly adjusted his glasses, eyes tightly shut._

_"You have to understand, Taylor," he said earnestly. "I can't see anything. I'm not allowed to. It's for the good of the school."_

_Then he began to dance a jig. Regent stood there, waving his hands like a conductor. Behemoth-Gladly danced toward him. Regent backed up, waving his hands frantically. The Endbringer danced right over the top of Regent, crushing him like a bug._

_Darkness sprang up around Behemoth. He roared, fully the monster again, and lashed out with flame. Grue screamed, burning, his darkness fading. Then it was no more, and nor was he._

_Lisa stepped up beside me, hands pressed to her temples. "If I can think hard enough, I can fix everything," she told me. "If I concentrate hard enough, I'll know everything."_

_**So what happens next?**__I asked her._

_She grinned her vulpine grin. "I have no idea," she told me. Then her eyes went wide. "Look out!" she shouted, and shoved me aside._

_There was a thunderous boom, and when the dust cleared, she was lying on the ground, pinned at the hips by a massive squared-off piece of rock._

_**Lisa!**__I screamed._

_She looked more irritated than upset. "Damn," she said. "Happens every time."_

_I knelt beside her, cradled her head.__**Don't leave me,**__I sobbed.__**Not again.**_

_"Taylor," she said. "Remember. You have to remember."_

_**I'm trying,**__I told her.__**I can't. Too much has happened. I'm losing the information.**_

_"So ask Nina," she said. "She can probably help you."_

_**I ... I guess,**__I said.__**Okay, I'll do that.**_

_"It's really the only option," she told me. She gave me a weak smile. "Hey," she said. "Kiss before I go?"_

_I kissed her. Her lips tasted, as I knew they would, of dust and blood._

_"Huh," she said. "Nice.". Then she grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me hard._

-ooo-

Someone was shaking me; I came awake with a start and a gasp. I fumbled for my glasses and had them pushed into my hand. At the same time, I reached for my bugs, to see where I was, what was going on. They didn't respond. I felt fear swell within me; _What's happened to my powers?_

The glasses weren't _my_ glasses; they corrected my vision imperfectly. But they corrected it enough for me to recognise the face of the woman standing beside my bed, leaning over me with an expression of motherly concern on her face.

Memory connected, and my incipient panic eased off. "Dot?" I asked to be sure. This was my grandmother, still in her late fifties; I could see echoes of my dad in her.

Details fell into place. I had been sent back in time by Phir Sē, to the year nineteen eighty-nine. In the process of travelling back, I had become disconnected from my powers.

But before I had been sent back …

I pushed that memory away. I didn't need to revisit it.

By some strange twist of fate, I had been rescued from the teeth of an October storm by the boy who would grow up to be my own father. As a result, I was sleeping in the spare room of the Hebert family home. But it wasn't _my_ home, and it probably never would be, now.

Dot nodded, and placed a cool hand on my forehead. "You were crying out in your sleep," she said. "Did you have a nightmare? I think you were calling for your father, and someone called Lisa?"

I blinked. The dream was fading rapidly, down to bare details; a scrap here, a flash there. I remembered seeing Grue die in flames, and I had a flash of true memory, his body pressed against mine, the last time we had been together, before I had given myself up. And then the shared moment of peace, of support, in New Delhi, just before everything had gone so horribly wrong.

_No._ Memories like that would do me no good, either. I needed the memories of what Lisa had told me.

"I … don't recall," I said. I was saying that a lot, these days. I was just glad that in this here and now, no-one had an Armsmaster-style electronic lie detector. That would have made my life a lot harder.

"But it's _something,_ isn't it?" she asked hopefully. "Lisa. A friend? A sister?"

"I think ..." I said slowly. "We might have been friends. Best friends. Almost as close as sisters." I shook my head. "I can't say more than that." I offered her a wan smile.

She took my hand and squeezed it supportively. "Well, it's a start," she said optimistically.

I nodded. "It's definitely something."

She beamed.

-ooo-

Breakfast was not quite as strained an affair as dinner the previous night had been. George, Danny's father, had apparently decided to ignore me in the hopes that I might go away. He was a big man, heavy-set, and prone to anger, and he did not appreciate having an outsider in his home without his express permission.

Dot spoke of the dream she had woken me up from. Danny was interested, but then, he would be. I was an exotic stranger, one that he had personally rescued from a watery grave. And, of course, a girl.

Dot had been kind enough to outfit me in one of her dresses. She was slender, though not quite as bird-thin as she would get in the next fifteen years, so it fitted well enough. So I supposed I looked at least a little feminine as I sat there at the table. Danny obviously thought so; he kept sneaking me covert glances when he thought his father wasn't looking.

_Great_, I thought as I spooned cereal and ate pancakes. _He's got a crush._ It felt a little weird; no-one had ever had a crush on me before, with the possible exception of Greg Veder, of whom the less said the better. But I had seen it before, in others, and the signs were unmistakeable.

I _liked _Danny, quite apart from the fact that he was a younger version of my own Dad. He was also a nice boy, eager to help, willing to throw himself bodily into peril for the sake of a stranger. He _had _saved my life; that was undeniable. And I _was_ grateful.

But I could not, dared not, reciprocate his attentions. Genetically speaking, he was my father. No matter what else, no matter how my body reacted to his glances - I had been startled to realise that I was at least a _little_ attracted to his younger self - there could be nothing between us, ever.

Besides, I knew when and where he was to meet my mother; that time and place had not yet come about. If I distracted him, made him less likely to notice her when they did meet, I could wipe my own future self from existence, which I did _not_ want to do. And finally, his happiest years had been when he was married to my mother; no matter what else I changed, I did not think I could bear to change _that_.

So I was almost relieved when George rustled his paper and growled at his son, a command to "eat your bloody breakfast and stop making a damn fool of yourself, boy!". Danny, abashed, applied his full attention to his pancakes and cereal thereafter.

"Mrs Hebert," I said brightly in an attempt to break the tension. She raised an eyebrow toward me. "Dot," I amended hastily. "These are lovely pancakes. What recipe do you use?"

Danny's mother immediately smiled and began explaining her pancake-making techniques in detail. I knew them well; Dad and I had made pancakes the same way for years. But I nodded and smiled and asked leading questions, and paid no attention to Danny whatsoever. It wasn't easy, as I did want to give him a sympathetic glance regarding his father's rebuke, but nor did I want to get him in trouble again. And I really didn't want him thinking that I was interested in him.

* * *

I was just helping Dot clear away the breakfast things when there was a knock on the door. Danny answered it; I heard him say clearly, "Hello, Ms Veder. How are you today?"

"I'm well, thank you, Danny," she greeted him, then came through into the living room. "Taylor, how are you today?'

I turned and gave her a smile. "I'm feeling much better today, thanks, Ms Veder," I told her.

"Good," she said cheerfully. "You look a lot better. No headaches, no disorientation?"

I shook my head. "I had a dream this morning." Dot would tell her anyway, and it would look strange to hold back.

Nina looked interested. "Oh? Do you remember any of it?"

"Not really," I said. "But Dot says I was calling out for my father, and for someone called Lisa."

"Lisa, huh?" she replied. "Does the name ring a bell?"

I frowned. "Not as such, but the impression I get is of a really close friend. Not a sister."

"Girlfriend?" suggested Nina. Dot snorted as she continued clearing plates. I recalled that she was a little old-fashioned in her views.

I smiled and shook my head. "No, not that close, I don't think. Sorry."

Nina nodded, unembarrassed. "Well," she said. "It's something to go on with, I guess."

"It is," I agreed. "It really is."

"Well, we have a bit to do today," said Nina. "Are you ready to go?"

"I'll just help Dot finish cleaning up here," I said, "and then I'm pretty well good to go."

Dot smiled at me. "It's all right, Taylor. I can manage from here. Thank you for your help, though." She gave me a hug, which I returned.

"Thank you for taking me in, Dot," I replied. "I really appreciate it."

She beamed at me. "You've brought a little excitement into our lives." She leaned close and lowered her voice. "And I think Danny likes you."

I blinked. "I ... but ... your husband ..."

She made a rude noise with her lips. "Oh, you never mind George. If he had his way, the sun would ask _his _permission to come up each day."

I blinked again. My grandmother had hidden depths. "Right." _Great, she's trying to matchmake me with my own dad._

She put her hand on my cheek. "Anyway, you just think about it, all right?"

I nodded and mustered a smile. "I will, Dot. Thanks."

Just then, George came stamping down the stairs, followed by Danny; both were wearing heavy work gear. "We're off, dear," said Danny's father, brushing past me and giving his wife a kiss on the cheek. "See you tonight."

"See you then, dear," Dot replied.

Danny looked at me, and I took pity on him. "See you later, Danny," I told him.

It was as if the sun had come up all over again. "See you later, Taylor," he said, and there was a spring in his step as he went out the door. Dot beamed at me.

-ooo-

Danny's father drove an old Ford pickup, as opposed to the sedan that Dad and I used to get around in. They were just pulling out of the driveway as Nina and I went out to her car, which was parked at the curb.

"So, you and Danny?" she said, as I got in.

I shook my head. "Not hardly," I said.

"Not even just a little bit of appreciation for having saved your life?" she asked teasingly.

"No," I said firmly. Perhaps a little too firmly. Nina looked at me perceptively.

"Something's the matter," she said. "You have a reason. Mind sharing?"

I shook my head. "Not really. It's just that George – Mr Hebert – laid down the law pretty firmly last night. If Danny comes 'sniffing around me' – his words, not mine – then I'm out on my ear. I don't want to get Danny in trouble, and I don't want to burn my bridges, so no matter what I might feel about Danny – or not feel about him, as the case may be," I added quickly, "it's strictly friendship, nothing more."

"Pity," she said reflectively, as she started the car. "Danny's a nice boy. Serious, but nice. You're serious too. I can see you two getting along well. And from the look on his face, I think he's got a bit of a crush on you already."

I sighed. "Yes, he's a nice boy. I do like him, just not in that way. And right now, I have other problems on my plate, as you well know. So can we talk about something else, please?"

She raised an eyebrow at that, quirked half a smile, but dropped the subject.

But somehow, I knew that this was not the last I would hear of it.

-ooo-

Our first stop was an optometrist, where Nina had my eyes checked, and purchased a couple of pairs of glasses in my prescription. I almost chose round lenses, like I always wore, but then I decided to go with rectangular frames. I needed to be a different person. I was Taylor Snow now, not Taylor Hebert. Taylor Snow was going to change the world.

But still, it was a huge relief to be able to see clearly at last. The optometrist noted a little reddening in my eyes, diagnosed mild eyestrain, and gave me a bottle of eyedrops which he said would clear it up.

"Damn," said Nina, as she packed away Danny's glasses for safekeeping. "You look like a different person in those. More serious. More determined."

I nodded. "Thanks," I said. I _was_ more serious, more determined.

"Actually," she said, "I've been meaning to say. You have strange posture."

I glanced at her. "Posture?" I asked.

"You stand … oddly," she explained. "Angular. You don't move much. You don't spend as much time glancing around as other people do. Do you have any idea why?"

I blinked. I did, in part. As Skitter, then as Weaver, I had had my bugs checking out my surroundings at all times. I hadn't _needed_ to look around. It wa a habit I needed to get back into. And I didn't move much, because if I was standing still, I was usually controlling thousands of bugs in dozens of different tasks. So I had gotten out of the habit of moving around, fidgeting.

"Sorry," I lied. "No idea. Maybe it's just a thing, with me."

She tilted her head. "Maybe. It could be a clue, something that will help you find out who you really are." She smiled. "Every little bit helps."

"I can only hope so," I agreed insincerely. "Where are we going next?"

Next, as it turned out, was the doctor.

-ooo-

Nina Veder, as a volunteer EMT, had given me as thorough a checkup as she was able, on the boat. But she was constrained in both her equipment and her training, and so she had booked me in to see a proper medical doctor.

Doctor French was middle-aged, slightly overweight, and apparently a good friend of Nina's. She sat in while he examined me.

The first thing he did was check me for after-effects of the concussion I had suffered. A pencil-torch was shone into each eye, checking for pupil dilation, while he asked me about headaches, nausea, forgetfulness.

"Only the amnesia," I told him. "I can remember everything after that fairly well." He nodded, made notes, went on.

"You have old fractures," he commented, manipulating my wrist. "Old injuries. Do you recall how you got them?"

I shook my head. "Not those ones, no," I said.

The scars on my wrist where Rachel's dog had bitten me, the scar on my forearm that I had gotten during the raid on the Merchants, he noted and went on. But when he found the scarring on my shoulder, he paused.

"This looks almost … medical," he said. "Surgical."

I shrugged with my other shoulder. "Sorry," I said. "I don't recall."

He glanced to Nina. "I'd like to X-ray this, if I could?" he said. "Whatever was done, I'd like to see what the result was."

Nina looked to me. I couldn't think of a viable excuse not to. "Sure," I said. "I guess."

-ooo-

"Well, _this_ is odd," said Doctor French, holding up the X-ray to the light.

"What's odd?" I asked. I already knew the answer, of course.

"You have a plug of metal bonded to the bone in your shoulder joint," he observed. "See, there?"

I looked, as did Nina. It was obvious, when you knew what to look for; a spot of much lighter material. It was all that was left of the dart that Flechette had stuck in my shoulder, back before she had defected to become Parian's lieutenant and lover.

"Metal?" I asked. "What sort of metal?" _Aluminum,_ I thought.

"From the density, something like aluminum, at a guess," said the doctor. "But I'd need a sample to be sure."

"Which would require a surgical procedure in itself," I guessed.

He nodded. "Yes."

"And am I in any danger, if you just leave it there?" I asked.

He shook his head, consideringly. "It looks old, healed. No inflammation. Whatever was done, happened awhile ago."

_Not much more than a month ago,_ I thought. But I had had that treatment from Scapegoat, which had apparently accelerated the healing of the surgical procedure that Brooks had carried out on me.

"That's really weird," I said. "Why would anyone operate on me, just to implant a piece of aluminum in my shoulder?"_Because the surgery wasn't to implant it._

"And there you have me," confessed Doctor French.

I worked my shoulder joint. "It doesn't _feel_ any different," I noted.

"It wouldn't," he told me. "If it did, you'd have noticed long before now."

-ooo-

"Well," said Nina, as we drove away. "Another few oddities to add to the list."

"Oddities?" I said.

She looked at me, just a glance, before putting her attention back on the road. "Taylor," she said, "I've seen less scarring on _soldiers._ You're barely seventeen, and you've either been horribly abused as a child, or you've been in some kind of war zone over the last few years."

_War zone,_ I thought. _Yeah, that was Brockton Bay all right._

She took a deep breath. "And I've watched you. Each time he found a new scar, you flinched, ever so slightly. I think you're recalling, consciously or subconsciously, how you got them." Reaching out, she put her hand on my arm. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

I shook my head. "Sorry," I said. I hated to lie to her, but it was the only way to go on. "I got nothing."

She grimaced. "I was afraid you would say something like that. Well, we can keep trying."

She drove on.

I began to wonder if she suspected that I knew what had happened to me, and was just suppressing the memories, or even just refusing to talk about them. Which was, basically, the truth.

Whatever else she was, Nina Veder was not a stupid woman.

"So what next?" I asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Clothes," she said cheerfully, "maketh the woman."

-ooo-

The Lord Street Market, twenty-two years earlier, was a different place. It was more staid, more measured, less frenetic and freewheeling. Each store had its own security, not the Enforcers of the latter day Market and Boardwalk.

It was oddly reminiscent of the shopping expedition that Lisa had dragged me out on, shortly after I had joined the Undersiders. I was less reluctant, less withdrawn, than I had been back then, but still, Nina's enthusiasm daunted me. I wasn't really in the mood for clothes shopping; I wanted to take my time, to window-shop, get my thoughts into shape about where I was going, what I was doing. But she didn't give me a chance to stop or protest.

Before I knew it, I found my arms full of clothes of varying cut and colour, and I was trying them on. Nina had almost as good an eye for what suited me as Lisa had, and it wasn't long before I had several complete outfits sorted out. Even I could see that they worked with me, even with the new image that I was trying to convey.

I also ended up with a purse, a handbag, shoes, sandals and underwear. I was a little surprised at how low the prices were, but then, the economy _had_ been better, twenty-two years ago.

"Are you sure you can afford all this?" I asked; it had to be a large chunk out of her pay.

She grinned at me. "I'll be putting it down as 'work expenses'," she told me. "Besides, you tell me that you don't look and feel better."

I looked down at the new outfit I was wearing; at Nina's insistence, I had changed in the ladies' restroom. It did look good on me; the jeans weren't as tight as the ones Lisa had had me wear, once upon a time, and the top didn't show quite as much belly, but I did like it. And several guys had given me the once-over after I had changed into it.

"Okay, fine," I admitted. "I like it. I just didn't want you thinking I was sponging off of you."

"Look at it this way," she said. "As soon as you're back in the system, I can step back and let the government take care of you. But until that point, it's apparently up to me."

I gave her a hug. "Thanks," I told her. "I appreciate it."

She hugged me back. "Hey," she said. "Just doing my job." Pulling away, she put her hands on my shoulders. "Lunch?" she asked.

"Lunch," I agreed.

-ooo-

We had lunch at an open air café. While we ate, Nina quizzed me on what I knew of current events. I was a little fuzzy on quite a bit of it, having to be careful not to 'remember' things that hadn't happened yet, but we were able to discuss Scion and the superhero phenomenon. Vikare had only died earlier that year, and there were still pictures of him up around the place, bordered in black ribbon. The first superhero to die.

He would not be the last, I knew.

There were the three members of the Triumvirate, of course, the godlike beings that wielded powers so far above mortal man that it was not possible to compare them. Alexandria, Eidolon, and Legend. I knew of them, of course. I knew far more about them than Nina could possibly know at this point in time.

There was also Hero, the first Tinker, with his red and gold powersuit. He had been torn apart by the Siberian when I was five; this was still eleven years in the future. I couldn't help thinking of Kid Win, with the similarly styled armour. He wouldn't even be _born_ for another six or seven years.

Nina was full of speculations about the heroes, enthusiastic about the future. I didn't want to destroy her hopes and dreams, any more than I wanted to out myself by 'knowing' something that I could not possibly know, so I played along. The golden age of superheroes, having only just begun, had already begun to tarnish with the death of Vikare.

It would get a lot darker, in time. Those we had looked up to as heroes, as saviors, would be shown to be monsters. But Nina didn't have to know that, not right then. I would let her enjoy her illusions for a while longer.

Lisa had told me a lot about what was going to happen. But I didn't remember it all. I needed to remember.

"Nina," I said, interrupting a speculation on Legend's love life, and whether he and Alexandria were a couple, "is there any way I can get some sort of therapy to help me … well, remember? Remember those things that I've forgotten?"

She looked at me, pensively. "I might know someone," she said.

-ooo-

"Now, I'm not a fan of this sort of thing," she said as we walked into the office. "But I've seen cases where it's worked. And I trust this guy not to screw things up _too_ badly."

"Well geez, Nina," said the long-haired man behind the desk. "Thanks for the glowing endorsement. Good to see you again." He got up and kissed her on the lips. Then he looked at me. "And who's your friend?"

"Greg," she said. "This is Taylor. She's got a case of retrograde amnesia that we'd like to dig into."

_Greg?_ I thought. But again, he bore no resemblance to the Greg Veder that I knew. _Family friend? Boyfriend?_I speculated. _Maybe Greg is named after him._

"Indeed?" said Greg. "Hysterical or physical trauma?"

"She came off one of the boats in the storm the other night," explained Nina. "Bumped her head pretty bad, got a concussion out of it. Can't remember anything before that point. We're trying to get a lead on who she is."

"Hmm," said Greg. "Might not be possible, in that case. The human mind is a strange, strange place. Hysterical amnesia simply blocks off memories, but they can be retrieved. Physical trauma can literally destroy memories altogether. But we can have a shot at it."

"I've been having dreams," I volunteered. "I called out for my father, and for someone named Lisa."

"Oh," he said, much heartened. "That's good. That's really good. That gives me a handle I can use." He paused. "Has she had an MRI done yet? Just to make sure there's no ongoing brain injury?"

Nina shook her head. "Currently this is all on my dollar, and those things cost an arm and a leg. Plus, there would be a waiting list a mile long. Besides," she added, "she's got a piece of aluminium in her shoulder, bonded to the bone, too close to her head. I don't think it's worth the risk."

"Aluminium?" he asked. "What's a piece of aluminium doing in her _shoulder?"_

"I have no idea," she said frankly. "But there it is."

"Strange," he said.

"Tell me about it," she agreed feelingly. "So, can you help us?"

"We can only try," he told her, then looked at me. "So, Taylor, how do you feel about being hypnotised?"

"Hypnosis?" I asked. Was this what Lisa, or my subconscious, had intended?

I wasn't a fan of not being in control. Hated it, in fact. Being pushed around, being bullied. Being forced into things.

I didn't know this guy. Nina did, and I sort of trusted her, but that wasn't enough for me to trust _him_.

Stalemate.

"Uh ... is there any other way?" I asked. "Not that I don't trust you, but ..."

"But you don't trust me, I get it," he said. "Hypnosis is a scary thing to a lot of people. Fear of losing control of your actions."

I thought of Valefor, of Regent. _If only you knew._ But I said nothing, just nodded.

"Well," he said, "I can assure you, there's no way I can hypnotise you against your will, and nor can I make you do something while under that would go against your morals. But ... if you're simply not at ease with the idea of someone else being involved, I can offer an alternative."

"Which is?" asked Nina.

"Self hypnosis," said Greg. "It's a thing. I sell tapes that talk you through it. You can do it in the comfort of your own home. You basically sit down, get comfortable, put the tape on, and concentrate on what you want out of it while you follow the instructions. When the tape ends, it will bring you out of it. Perfectly safe. I've used it on myself dozens of times."

"So, no subliminal messages telling me to give you all my money?" I asked cautiously. Not that I _had_ any money, but still.

He chuckled. "That's another urban myth. Subliminal messages just don't work like that. In fact, they barely work at all."

"Well," I said, after a moment of thought. "I guess I can give it a shot."

-ooo-

I was alone; I had made sure of that. Greg was in the outer office; Nina was keeping him company. I had locked the door from my side. I was safe as I could make myself.

It was odd. I was still in the chair; I _knew_ I was in the chair. But at the same time, I was floating. My mind was dissociated from my body. I could hear Greg's voice on the tape, far away, talking, giving instructions, telling me to let go, to let myself drift. Behind that, I could hear the soft, repetitive music, soothing my mind.

In the forefront of my brain, I told myself, _Remember. I must remember what Lisa told me._

Greg's voice fell silent. The tape rolled on. The soothing music played.

And suddenly, I was no longer in the chair at all.

* * *

End of Part 1-3


	5. Chapter 5

-ooo-

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 1-4: Revelations

* * *

_I was back in the ruins of New Delhi. I crouched beside Lisa, where she lay, trapped under the massive, squared-off rock._

"_Hey," she said cheerfully. "Good to see you. Give me a hand shifting this thing? I can't feel my legs any more."_

_I dug my fingers under the edge of the rock, and heaved. The rock lifted away, and Lisa rolled out from underneath._

"_Good one," she said, climbing to her feet. "You finally got back here. I was starting to get bored."_

_**Wait, what?**__ I asked, letting the rock fall to the ground again. __**Is this real, or is it a dream?**_

_She grinned. "Yes."_

_I rolled my eyes. __**Oh, ha ha.**_

"_No, seriously," she said. "Can't it be both?"_

_**I had a dream this morning,**__ I said. __**You were in it.**_

"_The Behemoth thing?" she asked. "Yeah, I remember that bit. You've got a lot of issues, you do realise this, don't you? Alan Barnes betraying your father's trust, Director Tagg being a dick, that Gladly guy not wanting to say anything to rock the boat. And then there's the unresolved issues you have with Brian." She sighed. "Well, that bit's gonna have to stay unresolved. He never makes it off the oil rig, you know."_

_**Oil rig?**__ I asked. __**What oil rig?**_

_"Nothing," she said, sounding weary all of a sudden. "It's not something that you need to worry about."_

_**Okay,**__ I said. __**So what do I have to do? And why does my voice sound funny?**_

"_Because you're actually speaking," she said. "You're mumbling out loud. You might want to keep your voice down a bit so Greg and Nina don't hear anything incriminating."_

_**You know about … them?**__ I asked, remembering at the last moment to not speak the names out loud. Greg and Nina might wonder why I was talking about them._

"_Well, duh," she said fondly. "I'm your subconscious. I know everything that you do, remember?" She paused. "Now, let's stop wasting time. You know the date."_

_**October twentieth, nineteen eighty-nine,**__ I agreed._

"_Excellent," she said. "Now, what's the next significant date?"_

_Behemoth, I thought. __**I guess … him,**__ I said. __**The big guy. The first one.**_

"_Yup," she said. "Three years' time. December thirteenth, ninety-two. And then, on January eighteenth of ninety-three …"_

_**Ah,**__ I said. __**I get it.**__ And I did. I saw her plan. __**I know what I've got to do.**_

"_Exactly," she said. "But you're going to have to study like hell. Without your powers, you're going to have to do this the hard way."_

_That was something I had been wondering about. __**Did you know?**__ I asked. __**That I was going to lose them?**_

_She smiled and caressed my cheek. "Silly Taylor," she said cheerfully. "I told you; I know everything." She hopped down off of the block, gestured for me to follow. I did. She took my hand, and we strolled up and over what would have been a gentle rise, had it not been made up of blasted, scorched rock._

_Beyond was a structure, or at least the skeleton of one, where no such thing had existed in real life._

_**What's that?**__ I asked._

_"The beginnings of your memory palace," she told me. "It's going to hold all the stuff I told you, all the other stuff you knew without knowing you knew. All arranged and collated, ready for access. Ready for when you want to start making your plans."_

_**Christ,**__ I said. __**I didn't even know I could **_**do**_** something like this.**_

_You're not," she told me with a grin. "I am. Now, your time's almost up. Tape's about to run out."_

_**Wait,**__ I said. __**How do I know this isn't just another dream?**_

_She grinned, and whispered something in my ear. I blinked. __**Really?**_

_She nodded. "Yes, really. Now, we really are out of time. Kiss before you go?"_

_I pointed my finger at her. __**No tongue,**__ I said sternly._

_We laughed; I kissed her. Her lips tasted, as always, of dust and blood._

-ooo-

I blinked my way awake.

"Whoa," I said out loud. "That was weird."

She had seemed so real. Not dreamlike at all. So real, so very like the Lisa I had known, that tears prickled my eyes.

There was a knock on the door, startling me. _Greg and Nina._

Scrambling up off the chair, I went to the door and unlocked it. Nina stood there, hand raised to knock a second time. Greg stood behind her.

"Taylor," said Nina. "Did it work?"

"Uh, sure," I said. "I feel really rested and relaxed. That tape was awesome."

She rolled her eyes. "No, I meant did you manage to remember anything?" she asked.

"Actually, yes," I said, recalling what Lisa had whispered to me. "I remembered being told about Brockton Bay. How the bay was discovered by Captain Jeremiah Lord, and it was originally called Lord's Bay. Captain's Hill was named after him too. But when the township of Brockton was established by Isaac Brock, he took it on himself to rename the bay. Eventually, enough people referred to the settlement with the name of the bay that it stuck."

Nina frowned. "This isn't anything you can't learn from a history book."

I held up a finger. "_However_. Captain Lord returned years later, and was so angry about Brock renaming 'his' bay that he challenged the man to a duel. To placate him, Isaac Brock had the longest street in the township, and the port itself, named after Lord. The duel didn't go through, but apparently Lord and Brock never saw eye to eye after that."

Greg blinked. "Christ," he said. "I didn't know about that."

"That's because you moved here from New York," Nina told him. "That sort of thing only gets taught in the schools in and around the Bay.". She frowned. "And the bit about the duel ... I always thought that was embellishment."

I shrugged. I hadn't known about the duel either. But it sounded right. And then something else popped into my head. "The Brockton Bay Historical Society has a presentation on it," I added. "If anyone knows about the truth behind it, they would."

Greg raised a finger. "One second," he said, and picked up his phone and checking the directory. It only took a couple of minutes, then he put it down again. "She's right," he said. "There nearly was a duel, but the families of both men had it hushed up."

"Well, that settles it," said Nina. "You're from around here. What you said yesterday, about the city being almost familiar to you, you were right. You've lived here, at least a little while."

"Awesome," I said. "That tape ... would I be able to ..."

"Get a copy?" asked Nina. "Sure. And we'll pick you up a Walkman, too, and some headphones.". She glanced at me. "You'll be sure to tell me if you remember anything concrete?"

I nodded. "Sure," I said. "You'll be the first to know."

* * *

On the outside, I smiled. On the inside, I felt bad; Nina would never get the answer, the key to the puzzle called Taylor Snow.

But this was the way it had to be. I didn't know how a confirmed time traveller, with definitive news of the future, would be treated in the here-and-now that I was currently resident in, but in Brockton Bay, in America, of twenty-two years hence, the answer could be summed up quite succinctly: 'not well'.

Even presuming that a villain such as Coil did not get his hands on this hypothetical future time traveller, he could not be guaranteed a fair deal from the government, the PRT, or whoever else got final custody. I recalled how Dinah, an innocent in Coil's dealings, had been virtually threatened by Director Tagg for not giving him exactly what he wanted.

Brockton Bay of nineteen eighty-nine might be a kinder, gentler place in a kinder, gentler time, but I didn't trust it. Not when it came to my life, my freedom and my anonymity. And even if Nina promised not to tell, _intended _never to tell, things might yet get out. No, it was better to maintain my cover.

* * *

"Taylor, are you okay?" asked Nina. "You zoned out for a minute, there."

I mustered a smile for her. "Sure," I said. "Just thinking. Trying to see if there was any more to that memory. I think it might have been my grandpa who told me about the duel."

"Hey," said Greg. "That's great. So your family's been in Brockton Bay awhile then."

"Unless it's my grandparents that live in the city, and my parents visit from out of town," I pointed out.

"Hey!" said Nina. "No speculation. That's how false memories are created. Stick with what you know."

I nodded. "Yes, ma'am," I said meekly. I decided to build on the parents-from-out-of-town hypothesis, though; it seemed to fit the bill for my needs.

"Well, thanks for your help, Greg," she said, as money changed hands for the tape. "I appreciate it."

He kissed her again; once more on the lips, I noted. "Anytime," he said with a smile.

I grinned at her as we left the storefront. "So, you and him, huh?" I asked.

She sniffed disdainfully. "I have _no_ idea what you are talking about," she said loftily.

"Uh huh," I replied. "I'm amnesiac, not blind."

She met my gaze, and then we both grinned. We understood each other.

-ooo-

"So where to now?" I asked, once we were back in her car.

"Well, I have an actual paying customer this afternoon," Nina told me, "so I'm going to have to drop you off somewhere. The library, perhaps? I can leave you bus fare and directions on how to get to the Heberts' residence."

"How about the port?" I asked on a sudden impulse. "Maybe seeing it in operation will jog a memory or two."

"Or maybe you'll get to see Danny again," Nina pointed out.

"I have _no _idea what you're talking about," I professed, in my best imitation of her lofty tone from earlier. We both laughed. "But seriously," I said, "I'm wearing new clothes that actually look good on me, and I'd really like the chance to walk in sunlight and breathe some sea air, without having to hang on to a rail."

"Don't forget your coat," she reminded me. "It might be relatively warm out, but it _is_ October, and we did have that storm a couple days ago."

"Yes, Mom," I agreed with a grin. She wrinkled her nose at me. I laughed, took the coat from the bags, and got out of the car.

-ooo-

George Hebert worked on the docks until the day of his retirement; getting his Master's licence merely meant that he did a little less physical labour than before. However, he believed in his son getting out there and working for a wage, and so Danny went with him, even though all the manual labour in the world wouldn't give Danny a physique like his father's.

Dorothy worked in the Port Authority building as a secretary, which was how they had met, all those years ago. Back then, she had been a lowly member of the typing pool; now, she was well up in the hierarchy, and more people took orders from her than gave them to her.

I walked for a while, enjoying the early afternoon sun, then my footsteps turned toward the Port Authority building. Upon enquiring for Mrs Dorothy Hebert, I was escorted into her presence, to find her frowning at a large and blocky computer that was currently crouching on her desk.

"Hello, Taylor," she said with a distracted smile, then turned back to regard the intruding device somewhat balefully.

"Hi, Dot," I replied, taking my coat off. I was wearing a tee that covered my belly; I didn't want to embarrass Dot in front of everyone. "What's the problem?"

"The _problem_," she said, in terms of genteel severity, "is that head office has bequeathed this _thing_ upon us, into which we are supposed to enter data, where it will store it by some alchemical magic. Unfortunately, the rules by which it is supposed to operate have been only supplied in the most rudimentary and sketchy format. Apparently, an expert was supposed to be supplied in order to explain the rules to us. He has yet to make an appearance."

"Oh, okay," I said, approaching the device. Adjusting my glasses, I peered at the front of it. "A Hewlett-Packard nine thousand, huh?"

She looked around at me with mounting hope. "You can _use_ these things?"

"I _might_ be able to," I allowed, examining it closely. Finding the power switch, I pressed it on. The screen lit up with the startup sequence. This looked vaguely familiar.

Once upon a time, twenty years or so in the future, Mrs Knott had given us a relatively easy lesson, loading emulators from various old computer types into our desktop terminals. One had been of the older HP models, and I was fairly certain that this was one of the types that it had touched on. I had spent most of the period playing with it. It had been fun.

The trouble was, I didn't remember _exactly_ how it went.

The phrase _memory palace_ surfaced in my memory and bobbed there.

I took out my Walkman and headphones, and looked at Dot. "I think I can figure it out," I offered. "Is it okay if I listen to music while I do it?"

"Feel free to ride a unicycle and juggle chainsaws while you do it," she said expansively. "If you can decipher its mysteries, I shall be greatly pleased."

"Okay," I said. "Just please … don't let anyone else in the room for the moment, okay?"

She nodded firmly. "I can do that."

I grinned at her and pulled a chair over in front of the computer. Loading the tape into the Walkman, I fitted the headphones on and pressed PLAY. Closing my eyes, I let the music wash over me ...

-ooo-

"_Oh, hey," said Lisa. She was leaning back on a patio chair, with her feet up on a table, one leg crossed over the other. She had an electronic tablet in her hands. "That was fast."_

_I tried to articulate as quietly as possible. __**I need what you've got on the HP-9000. Fairly certain I played with an emulator at some point.**_

"_Ah," she said. "That would be ... life memories ... school days ... computer studies ..."_

_As she spoke, her fingers danced over the screen of the tablet._

"_Ah-ha!" she said triumphantly, and handed the tablet over to me._

_I found myself looking at a detailed emulator of the model in question. Labels marked out what keys entered what commands, and a sidebar informed me of the entire user startup list of commands._

_I went through it a few times, looked it over until I was fairly certain I could handle it, then passed the tablet back. __**Thanks**__, I said._

_She took the tablet from me, and grinned. "Just come visit occasionally, okay? I get lonely."_

_**Deal,**__ I agreed._

_She waved at a point behind me. "What do you think?"_

_I turned, and gaped._

_Before, it had been skeletal. Now, most of the spaces were filled in. It was enormous. It was magnificent. We sat on a patio in front of it. With my back to them, I had not noticed the fountains spilling crystalline droplets into the sky, where they fell back with enchanting slowness._

_**Why is it so big?**__ I asked, barely moving my lips._

_"Lots of memories," she explained. "A room for each one."_

_**Wow,**__ I said. __**Definitely coming back.**_

_As I stood, so did she. We hugged. I kissed her. It was becoming a ritual. Despite her relaxed, bathed appearance, despite the luxury of our surroundings, her lips still tasted of dust and blood._

_Some things, it seemed, never changed._

_It was a stark reminder of what had happened. What could still happen again._

-ooo-

I clicked off the Walkman and blinked. The computer was up and running, all systems nominal. It had been all set up while I was out.

Pulling the headphones off, I looked around, wondering who had worked around me while I had been zoned out. No-one was near me; however, half a dozen people, including several other members of the secretarial staff and an older man who was possibly Dot's boss, were peering through the doorway, staring at me. Dot was making sure they didn't enter, as I had asked.

So who had done the work?

_It must have been me, while I was under, _I realised. It unsettled me just a bit, in much the same way as it used to unsettle me when my 'passenger' would have my bugs do stuff while I was distracted, asleep or even unconscious. _I didn't know that I could do that._

"Well, it's ready to roll," I said, trying to inject cheer into my voice.

The man I assumed to be Dorothy's boss took a step forward; she let him past. "Can you, uh, do that with any of those things?" he asked. I looked at his name tag; it read WALTON.

"Sure, I guess," I said. "I'm no expert, but ..."

There was a general chuckle from the other people at the door; apparently they thought I was either joking or being modest. Mr Walton took another step forward. "Miss, uh ..."

"Snow," I supplied. "Taylor Snow. I'm staying with Dot, uh, Mrs Hebert, at the moment."

He smiled and nodded, as if that constituted an ironclad reference. "Well, Miss Snow, you seem to have a better grasp of the mechanics of that device than any of the rest of us old dinosaurs." He paused. "Are you ... currently ... employed?"

I had to chuckle. "Mr Walton, sir, I'm only –" _Sixteen? No, go for broke. Say seventeen. Dad always said I was smart enough to skip a grade, anyway. If I hadn't been bullied ... _" – seventeen. Still in school."

He nodded understandingly. "We can work around that. How would you like a job?"

-ooo-

My job title was 'part-time secretarial assistant', nominally attached to Dot.

In reality, I was the computer guru. I would be the one tasked with getting the computers up and running, showing people how to use them, coaxing them back into operation when things went wrong, and in general, making the system work. I could work as many hours as I wished, afternoons and weekends, and Dot would square it with Mr Walton.

I was fully aware that I would not be getting paid nearly as much per hour as an adult computer tech would have been – but I was still a minor. And it was still a very decent paycheck.

* * *

I had to refer to the memory palace several times more that afternoon; after the second time, no-one seemed to consider it strange when I ushered them from the room, put my headphones on, started the tape, and went into a semi-trance for a few moments. They were just glad I was getting the damn things up and running.

While I consulted with the emulator, I chatted with Lisa, who seemed to be able to work on her own tablet – she had an endless supply – without ever looking at what she was actually doing. Though I wasn't quite sure what she was working _on._

And not once did I bring up the one question that I felt could bring it all crashing down.

_Is it really you, Lisa? Or is it just an extremely detailed hallucination?_

I truly wanted it to be one, but I feared that it was the other.

I decided that if I never questioned it, I would never have to find out the real answer.

For the moment, that was good enough for me.

-ooo-

I was waiting outside with Dot when Nina pulled up in her sedan. She got out and approached us. "Hello, Taylor," she said. "How was your afternoon?"

"Extremely productive," put in Dot, before I could speak. "Your little castaway here is apparently a computer genius."

I blushed, and Nina raised her eyebrows. "Computer genius?" she asked.

Dot nodded, and then proceeded to regale Nina with a very slightly embellished account of my exploits. Nina's eyes widened when she found that I had been gainfully employed by the Brockton Bay Port Authority, to run its computer systems.

"So how did you know what to do?" she asked me.

I shrugged. "Just did, I guess."

Nina made a dissatisfied noise. "Doesn't really help. But your upbringing must have been fairly esoteric if you know how to use those machines; they've only been around for a few years."

I nodded in agreement. "So is it a clue, or not?"

Nina chuckled wryly. "I'll let you know."

-ooo-

The next to arrive were Danny and George. They started work much earlier than Dot, so they drove in, while Dot caught the bus. But they finished at roughly the same time, so all three would go home in the old Ford truck.

George stumped up to us, kissed his wife on the cheek, and growled, "What's _she_ doing here, bothering you for?"

'She' being me, of course. Stung, I opened my mouth to reply, but then I caught a very slight head-shake from Danny, standing just a little behind his father. I decoded it with no problem. _Let Mom handle this._It was good advice. I shut my mouth again.

"Well, dear," said Dot with a smile, "Taylor here just went from being a houseguest to being a _paying_ houseguest."

George's head turned sharply at that; Danny stared at me, impressed.

"Just until I can get my own place," I ventured.

"Pish tosh," retorted Dorothy, waving a hand dismissively.

I blinked; did people actually _say_ that?

"A seventeen year old girl," continued Dot, "should not be living on her own in this city, not when there are good Christian folk who can put het up, give her shelter. Don't you agree, George?'

George frowned, outmanoeuvred. "So what's this job?" he growled.

Dot explained about the computers and how no-one else could make head nor tail of them. "She'll be showing us how, keeping them running," she concluded. "Mr Walton was very impressed."

George snorted dismissively. "Computers. Huh.". He paused, and turned to me. "Well, young lady, if you can keep yourself out of trouble, and if you can pay your own way, then you might as well stay on."

He turned and stumped toward the truck before I could answer. I blinked. That was possibly the most positive thing he had said to me yet.

"Computers," I heard him mutter. "Can't see the use in them."

Dorothy and I shared a conspiratorial smile. He might grumble, but so long as I behaved myself and paid my way, he could not object to my presence in his home.

* * *

I wondered how long the job would last; surely the missing expert would turn up eventually. But then, Mr Walton might just let them know that the man was no longer required; after all, he was paying me minimal rates for doing the same thing.

I decided not to worry about it. I wanted to explore this 'memory palace' concept some more. I was starting to get the idea that Lisa, with her expanded powers, had _done_ something to my head, back there in the ruins of New Delhi. I didn't know what or how, and I was apprehensive about asking, lest it break the spell, but it was starting to look very useful for the task at hand.

-ooo-

"Computer genius, huh?" asked Nina, as we followed the Heberts home.

I shrugged. "I dunno. It looked familiar to me, so I decided to try the tape on a hunch. I obviously learned how, somewhere, because when I opened my eyes again, I knew how."

"But you don't recall the lessons, who taught you, where you were, anything like that?" pressed Nina.

I shook my head. "Just basically sitting in front of one, typing. Using UNIX. I'm not a computer genius, but I get the impression I know a little bit about them."

"More than I do," she agreed. "I'm fairly sure what you just said wasn't the plural for 'eunuch', but apart from that, no idea."

"It's an, uh, operating system," I clarified. "There's several. The computers at Dot's work run on one called UNIX." I spelled it.

"I'm fairly sure they're not teaching that sort of thing in schools these days," Nina observed. "Maybe we're looking in the wrong places. Maybe you're one of those people who skipped straight into college-level courses."

"I'd be fairly prominent then, if I was," I objected. "My face would be out there. You would have found out who I was, fairly easily."

"Oh," she said. "Yeah. Damn."

I shrugged and smiled. "Sorry. We'll get there."

"Well, at the very least," she said with a return smile, "it's interesting."

-ooo-

"Mom's really impressed with you," said Danny.

We sat on the back steps with the door open, a careful distance between us. Above us, the sky purpled toward twilight.

"I think she's really great too," I said. "You're very lucky."

"Yeah, well," he said. "She was talking about how you were setting up the computers." He turned his head to look at me. "How do you know so much about computers?"

I shrugged. "Learned somewhere, I guess. Can't remember where."

He nodded. "Dad thinks they're just another toy that'll go away, but I'm thinking they're more than that. I mean, I've watched Star Trek. I know they're not that great yet, but maybe sometime in the future ..."

I hid a grin. _Sooner than you think._ "I think so too," I said earnestly. "Pretty soon, anyone who doesn't know how to use one is going to be on the back foot."

He nodded. We were silent for a few moments.

* * *

When he spoke again, I could hear a particular tone in his voice and I sighed internally.

"Taylor," he said carefully, keeping his voice low, "I think I ..."

I cut him off. "Danny," I said quietly, "please stop there."

He stopped speaking, staring at me, hurt in his eyes. It was like I'd just kicked a puppy. I felt terrible.

"Listen to me, Danny," I said just as quietly. "You saved my life. I am grateful Very grateful. You're my friend, and I think you're a great guy. But ... we're living under your father's roof, and we will abide by his rules. It's that simple."

"We could move out," he offered. "You've got a job, I've got a job. We could find a place -"

"_No,"_ I said, as firmly as I could, while keeping my voice down. "Danny. Please. Don't do this. Don't raise your own hopes."

He stared at me, bewildered. "But _why?"_ he asked me.

I took a breath. "I can't tell you. Really, I can't. But there's a very good reason. One day, maybe, I'll tell you. When it doesn't matter any more. But right now ... I can't be with _anyone."_ I looked at him seriously. "Do you understand?"

He shook his head. "No, Taylor, I don't. I really don't." My heart sank. And then he continued. "But if that's the way you want it to be, then that's the way it'll be. If I'm to be your friend, then I'll be your friend, and not push."

I leaned back and looked up as the stars began to come out, overhead. "Thanks, Danny," I said softly. "I really appreciate that."

His hand found mine and squeezed momentarily. I squeezed back.

"Hey," he said. "What are friends for?"

* * *

End of Part 1-4


	6. Chapter 6

-ooo-

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 1-5: Getting Established

* * *

_The yacht drifted at anchor, rising and falling on the gentle swell. A crystal-blue sky overhead, deep green water beneath. Seagulls circled above, wings barely moving as they drifted on the air currents._

_Lisa lay at ease on a lounger on the aft deck, wearing a one-piece swimsuit that looked rather like her regular costume with the arms and legs removed. She looked up from rubbing on suntan lotion as I approached._

_"Hey," she said, flashing her vulpine grin and raising her oversized sunglasses slightly. "You dream a nice yacht. I'm impressed."_

_I took the seat next to hers. __**This **_**is**_** just a dream, right?**__ I asked, looking around._

_"Just a dream, sure," she said cheerfully. "And, you know, not."_

_**... right,**__ I said. __**I'm sure that'll make sense when I wake up.**_

_"Well," she said cheerfully, "it __**is**__ all in your head, if that makes you feel any better."_

_**I'll get back to you on that,**__ I decided. __**While I'm here, do you have any other pearls of wisdom?**_

_She picked up the umbrella drink that had not been beside her ten seconds earlier - or had it? - and sipped at it. "Well," she said at length, "you're pretty well on track for the moment. The question of school will come up. Don't ask to go to Arcadia; it hasn't been established yet. Winslow's your best bet there. When you get there, remember that Ms Blackwell isn't the principal, just another teacher."_

_**So I'm going back to Winslow again,**__ I grumped._

_"Well, it'll be the first time for __**them,**__" she observed, sounding amused. "And of course, there will be a certain lack of some people."_

_I nodded. Emma, Sophia, Madison. The three bitches who had made my life hell. __**There'll be others like them,**__ I pointed out. __**There's always bullies.**_

_"True," acknowledged Lisa. "But they won't have a specific reason to pick on you, other than the fact that you're new. That'll wear off. And seriously, you've gone toe to toe with the likes of Leviathan and Alexandria. You've faced off Tagg and Armsmaster. Are you going to let a bunch of high-schoolers scare you?"_

_I said slowly, __**Well, I don't have my powers any more ...**_

_She sat up, raised her sunglasses, and gave me a stern look. "It's not about powers," she said flatly. "Powers are a means to an end. In the end, it's what's in __**here **__that counts." Her fingertip tapped on my sternum._

_**It would be a lot easier **_**with**_** powers,**__ I pointed out._

"_You always refused to use your powers on the bitches anyway," Lisa pointed out. "So how is this different?"_

_I thought about that. __**It isn't, I guess,**__ I said. __**Except that now I can't ditch class to go rob a bank or something. I don't have you guys to go hang with.**_

"_Oh, you'll always have me to hang with," Lisa assured me. "As for not robbing banks, nor will you have the responsibility of a territory to oversee. You'll be able to actually __**be**__ a teenager for the first time ever."_

_**I don't know how,**__ I protested. __**The only time I was able to be a teenager was when I was with you guys. And you can't say that was a normal time.**_

_She grinned at me. "Well, now you've got a chance to learn how," she said cheerfully. "But it's about time for you to wake up. Have a nice day. I'm going for a swim."_

_Getting up from the lounger, she leaned down and kissed me. Her lips tasted of dust and blood._

_Then she turned and dived off the edge of the boat into the deep green ocean. Water splashed up, and some got me in the eye. I blinked …_

-ooo-

… and I was awake.

I rolled over and sighed.

It was always hard to see Lisa and be reminded all over again that she was dead, that what I spoke to in my dreams, in the hypnotic trance, wasn't her at all, just a construct that my subconscious had thrown together.

Unless it wasn't. In which case I had no idea what was going on.

Still, on one level it was nice to see her, to talk to her. It gave me a certain amount of comfort, of confidence.

I climbed out of bed and padded out of the spare room, down the hall between the other two bedroom doors, to the bathroom.

* * *

When I was finished, I went back to my room and changed out of my brand-new pyjamas – _thank you, Nina_ – to my sweats and running shoes. Nina had raised an eyebrow at these, but I had told her that I needed them.

Closing my bedroom door behind me, I headed downstairs as quietly as I could.

Not quietly enough, apparently; boards in the hallway creaked, and so did the stairs. I was almost at the bottom when a tousle-haired, pyjama-clad Danny appeared at the top, rubbing his eyes.

"Taylor?" he queried sleepily. "Where are you going?"

"Out for a run," I said, pitching my voice just loud enough for him to hear. No sense in waking up George and Dot; he would be irritable about being woken early on a weekend, and she would be concerned about me running. I had pepper spray in my pocket, once more courtesy of Nina, but she didn't need to know about that either.

Danny came down a couple of steps. "Running?" he asked, sounding confused. "Won't you get lost?"

I shook my head. "I have a good sense of direction," I told him. "Besides, I'll just stick to the nearby streets."

"Wait a minute," he said. "I'll come with you."

I opened my mouth to frame a refusal, but he had already disappeared back upstairs to his room. I suppose I could have left while he was getting ready, but that would have been mean.

To his credit, he was downstairs in fairly short order. The running shoes looked new; I figured that he was using his work boots far more often.

As he let us out the back door, I asked – quietly, as I knew that his parents' bedroom was directly above – "Do you run much?"

He waited until we were out the side gate before he answered. "Not really, but I've been working down at the port with Dad. I'm a lot fitter than I used to be."

_Well,_ I thought, _we'll see._

-ooo-

As it turned out, he wasn't all that unfit. However, he had not been running in some time, if ever, and it showed. I had to stop several times to let him catch his breath, but he always doggedly got back into stride again. In the end, though, we turned for home before I had done half of my planned run. I shrugged mentally. There was always tomorrow.

We walked the last hundred yards as a cooldown; I was breathing heavily and sweating just a little, but he was panting like a steam train and perspiring heavily. However, he was still steady on his feet, which I counted as a plus.

"Do you do track and field or something?" he asked as he got his breath back.

I shook my head. "I don't think so," I said. "I think I've just got a routine or something. I woke up and decided I wanted to go for a run."

"Wow," he said. "I thought I was fit, working at the port. I think I've got a ways to go."

"We've all got areas we can improve in," I pointed out. "You've got upper body strength that I'll never have."

"Yeah," he said. "I guess."

* * *

When he opened the back door, Dot was in the kitchen making breakfast. She looked around in some surprise. "Danny?" she asked. "And Taylor? I thought you were both still in bed."

"Oh, uh, sorry, Dot," I said awkwardly as I came up the steps behind him. "I wanted to go for a run, and Danny came along to make sure I'd be okay."

She eyed me speculatively, then glanced at Danny. He nodded. "It was more like Taylor went for a run, I went for a stagger," he said ruefully.

"So, not a romantic walk to watch the sun rise over the Boardwalk then," she observed, sounding mildly disappointed.

I shook my head. "Not hardly. Sorry. Danny's nice. But ..." I broke off, trying to find a diplomatic way to say it.

"But you're just not that interested in him?" she suggested gently.

"Mom!" protested Danny, blushing.

She smiled and patted him on the cheek. "You go upstairs and shower, young man," she advised him.

"Okay, Mom," he said. Turning to me, he added, "I'd like to go running again, if you don't mind me holding you back. I think I need to do more of that."

I shrugged. "Sure," I said. "We can do that."

He grinned, then turned and headed into the front hall.

* * *

As his footsteps receded upstairs, Dot turned to me. "So you run in the mornings?" she said.

I nodded, hitching one hip up on the table. "Apparently so," I confirmed. "It did seem really familiar," I added truthfully. "Ms Veder says that if I do familiar things, it might open up a memory."

"So _did_ it help bring anything back?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Not yet, but I have hopes. Ms Veder seems to know what she's talking about."

"Nina Veder is a smart girl," Dot told me. "She knows her stuff. Helped a cousin of mine. I've got a lot of time for her." She lowered her voice. "I just wish she'd be more careful of the company she keeps."

I blinked, trying to work out what she meant. Then light dawned. "Oh – her roommates?" I asked.

She nodded. "Yes," she said, keeping her voice low. "Did she tell you about them?"

"Something like that, yeah," I said, then frowned. "But I don't really see the problem."

She shook her head disapprovingly. "You young people and your ways. I just don't think it's a Christian act."

* * *

If there was anything that was going to remind me of the era I was in, that was it. Legend had not come out yet; his marriage was still years in the future. The revelation that a member of the Triumvirate was gay had done a lot to foster acceptance of the homosexual community; when Flechette had quit the Wards to be with Parian, the scandal had been all about her defection, not her preferences.

And my own grandmother was a bigot, even in her own restrained way. It was a shock to the system.

But there was nothing I could tell this sweet old lady that would change her mind, would make her re-evaluate her views. I didn't know how she would react when Legend revealed his orientation; it might change her mind and it might not. But it wasn't something I could talk about now.

Another thought intruded. _She might be wondering about me, given that I've shown a distinct lack of interest in her son._

I forced a smile. "Well, you don't have to worry about me," I reassured her. "I _am_ interested in boys. Just … not right now, you know?"

She smiled, and seemed to relax slightly. "That's good, dear," she said, kissing me on the cheek. "Now, would you like to help me with the pancakes while Danny finishes his shower?"

"Love to," I replied.

-ooo-

Saturday morning breakfast was a more relaxed affair. George came down in his shirtsleeves, and Danny was dressed in t-shirt and jeans after his shower. Following our discussion of the evening before, and the morning run, Danny was treating me as just another person at the table, which was more or less what I needed. George seemed to pick up on the difference in his behaviour, and shot his son a few suspicious glances; Danny affected not to notice.

Dot and I were just finishing the washing-up when Nina Veder knocked on the door. Danny let her in, and she strolled through to the kitchen.

"Ready to go, Taylor?" she asked.

I frowned. "Go?" I asked. "Go where?"

"Well, first to the police station, to make sure that you're not a wanted felon. Secondly, if they've still never heard of you, to the local court registrar to have some temporary identification made up for you. Get you back into the system. And thirdly, we need to discuss which school you'll be going to, if they haven't figured out who you really are."

"Oh," I said. "Wow. Okay." I looked down at myself. "Should I change?"

She tilted her head to one side. "No, you look tidy enough. Maybe brush your hair?"

I trotted upstairs, came down with the brush that – once again – Nina had bought me. "I can do it in the car," I suggested.

"Good idea," she agreed.

"Wait a minute, you're going out?" asked Danny.

"Um, yeah, looks like it," I said. "Why?" _Oh great,_ I thought. _Here we go._

"I was gonna call up Alan, see if he wanted to come over," explained Danny. "Him and Zoe just had a baby. I thought you might like to meet them. They're good people."

_Shows how much __**you**__ know, _I decided not to say.

"Red-haired guy?" I asked, though I knew full well that it was.

He nodded, looking surprised. "That's right. How did you know?"

I grinned briefly. "Me and Ms Veder passed him on the pier when we were getting off the boat."

"Oh," he said. "Oh. Right." He grinned and shrugged. "I just thought, you don't know anyone around here, so …"

I nodded. "I understand, and I appreciate it, Danny. It's just that my plate's kind of full today. Maybe another day?"

"We could invite the Barneses over for Sunday dinner," suggested Dot from the kitchen door. "Taylor could get to know them then."

"That sounds reasonable," I agreed. "But we've got to get going. See you all later."

-ooo-

We made our way to the car. As we got in, Nina looked at me oddly.

"What?" I asked.

"The bottom step," she said. "You never step on it. You always jump over it. Why is that?"

"I … what?" I asked. _Stupid, stupid, stupid. Should have been watching for that._ "I didn't realise."

"Interesting," she noted. "Something that might provide a clue." She put the car in gear. "Also, I note that you and Danny no longer have that tension between you. Care to share?"

I shrugged. "Nothing to share. Last night, I told him that I wasn't interested. In the nicest way possible, of course."

"And how did he take it?" asked Nina. Her eyes were on the road, but I could tell she was giving me her full attention.

"Very maturely," I said. "We're currently just good friends." I paused. "Oh, and apparently I like going for a morning run."

"Oh, you do, do you?" asked Nina. "Did it, uh, jog loose any memories?"

It took me a moment to get the pun, then I groaned. Nina looked very pleased with herself. "That was _bad."_

She nodded cheerfully. "I know, but seriously, did it help you remember anything?"

"Nothing concrete," I told her, "but I think I've been doing it for a while."

"That's good," she said. "That's very good. Another piece for the puzzle."

"Unfortunately," I added dryly, "it's not a corner piece."

"Every little bit helps," she observed. "For now, we'll just take it one day at a time."

-ooo-

"Well, she's not in the system anywhere we can see," the police sergeant told Nina. "No descriptions that match closely enough to matter, no hospital records. Fingerprints, nada." He shrugged. "I've seen it before, with people who just wanted to drop off the face of the earth, kids of itinerant families. It's rare, but not unheard of."

He looked over at me. "But usually we can just ask them who they are, where they're from." A fatherly grin. "Of course, then we get the tough ones like you, who are fully competent, but can't remember a thing."

I shrugged. "Sorry," I said.

"Well, the best we can figure is that she's from Brockton Bay or somewhere nearby," said Nina helpfully.

"That's something, I guess," agreed the sergeant. "We'll keep looking; if anything pops up, we'll let you know." He handed over a sheaf of papers. "In the meantime, here's everything you gave us on Miss Snow. Medical report, plus fingerprints and so on. Take that to the court registrar, and you shouldn't have too much problem with getting her issued temporary identification."

-ooo-

The registrar was a fussy bald man, at least sixty, who would have been as skinny as me, if not skinnier. He peered at me over rimless spectacles, then at Nina.

"So she isn't your daughter?" he said querulously.

Nina shook her head. "No, she is not."

"And you can't find any next of kin?"

"No, sir, we can not," she confirmed.

He addressed me directly, this time. "Young lady, you have no memory of your family, or where you're from?"

I shook my head. "No, sir," I said. "I'm fairly sure my name is Taylor Snow –" half true, half a lie – "but beyond that, there's not much to go on. They pulled me out of the ocean after that big regatta smash-up."

He adjusted his glasses. "I see. Well, these documents seem to be in order. Medical information, identifying marks, fingerprints. An affadavit that these documents are true and correct, and all refer to the same person; that is, you. And a sworn statement by a medical professional, one Edwina Veder, MD, PhD, that you are of sound mind and sound body, and are fit to enter society."

He filled out a form with crabbed handwriting, had me sign it, then stamped it with what seemed to be unnecessary enthusiasm. Passing the form to me, he said, "Take good care of this, Miss Snow. According to this document, you are once more a productive member of society. It will serve as your legal identification until you can get something more binding."

"Can I … can I get copies?" I asked tentatively. "In case I lose it, or it gets damaged, or something?"

He smiled austerely. "Certainly. Twenty-five cents per photocopy, and I can have the copies certified."

I glanced at Nina – _Edwina? – _questioningly. She nodded. "Not a bad idea, Taylor. Yes, sir, we would like that."

It took a little more time, but a creakingly ancient xerox machine spat out four copies, Nina paid an extra dollar, and the registrar stamped each of them with a different stamp and signed them as being "true and accurate copies of the original document".

Each of us shook hands with the old man, and he wished us a good day. As we got up to leave, he was pulling down the shutters.

-ooo-

Outside, with the original and three copies in my bag, and the fourth in Nina's, I turned to her. "Edwina?" I asked. "Really?"

She heaved a deep sigh. "My parents thought they were getting a boy, and had chosen Edward as a name, okay? So when I came along, they couldn't think of a good name, and settled for the closest girls' equivalent."

We got into the car. "So … did they ever actually call you 'Eddie'?" I asked as I buckled myself in.

"For about one week," she confirmed. "A week during which I refused to acknowledge the name. So we compromised and went with Nina." She started the car and put it in gear.

"So why not change it by deed poll?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Ever hear the Johnny Cash song 'A Boy Named Sue'?"

I frowned. "I think I know it."

"You think the guy in the song ever thought of just changing his name? Ride into a new town and call himself Jim-Bob or George or something?"

I shrugged. "Not really. I guess he just got used to it."

She nodded. "Same with me. I'm used to the fact that my given name is Edwina, but I call myself Nina, and that's all everyone has to know about me." She looked at me. "Make sense?"

I grinned at her. "Sure thing – Edwina."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine, get it out of your system."

I shook my head and chuckled. "I'm done. Sorry. I shouldn't make fun of your name."

She half-shrugged. "Oh, I used to make fun of it all the time." A side glance at me. "Lunch?"

"Yes, please," I agreed. "Becoming a real person again is hungry work."

-ooo-

Lunch was almost over. I had had a pita wrap with sun-dried tomatoes, and Nina had demolished a vegetarian quiche. I was sipping my tea when Nina leaned back in her chair.

"So, Taylor," she said. "Now we get to the unpleasant task of deciding which bastion of education will have to bear the brunt of accepting you within its hallowed halls."

"What school I'm going to?" I asked.

"If you want to reduce it to such tawdry terms, yes," she agreed, nibbling at a sugared doughnut.

"Uh, what options are there?" I asked.

"Not many, I'm afraid," she said. "Immaculata is a private school, predominantly Catholic. Do you know if you're Catholic?"

I shrugged. "No idea."

"Grantley is a public school, but it's not in the best of shape," she went on. "Five gets you ten it folds in the next three years."

I didn't know about three years, but I knew it wasn't going to last twenty-two years. I had the vague idea that Arcadia had been established on the old Grantley campus.

"Anything else?" I asked.

"Yes," she said. "Winslow. It's a good school, from what I hear. Strong in athletics, and they regularly compete well in academic challenges."

_How the mighty have fallen, _I thought. Or would fall. Or whatever.

"Well, it sounds like Winslow's the pick of the bunch," I observed.

Nina nodded. "Well, as it happens, I spoke to the principal of Winslow this morning."

"And …?" I prompted, when she paused.

She smiled widely. "And he's willing to see you this afternoon, if that's the one you want to attend," she told me. "All we have to do is call ahead."

"So wait," I said. "You already chose this one for me?" I felt vaguely insulted, despite what Lisa had said in my dream that morning.

She shook her head, still smiling. "No. _You_ chose. I merely anticipated your choice."

"And if I'd decided that I was Catholic?"

A half-shrug. "I'd be making a call to Immaculata instead."

"Huh," I said. "You called them all."

She nodded. "No sense in not hedging my bets." Getting up, she dusted crumbs off of her legs. "Well, ready to go and see what Winslow looks like?"

I grinned, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. _It won't be like it was when I first went there,_ I told myself firmly. _It'll be totally different._

"Let's go to school," I agreed.

* * *

End of Part 1-5


	7. Chapter 7

-ooo-

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 1-6: Preparation

* * *

We didn't talk much in the car on the way to Winslow. Nina was apparently content to give me my space, and I had quite a bit to think about.

I was no longer a non-person, a cipher. More to the point, I was being enrolled in school all over again. This gave me a vague sense of unease, which was, if anything, exacerbated by the fact that it was Winslow that I was going to be attending. Again, but also for the first time.

Not for the first time, I reflected that time travel led to the _weirdest_ grammatical tenses.

-ooo-

I looked around at the cityscape as Nina drove us both toward Winslow. Once more, I was struck by a sense of fractured deja vu. Some of the buildings were familiar, whereas some were out of place. The truth, of course, was that _I_ was the one in the wrong place; or rather, in the wrong time.

Winslow itself did little to dispel the feeling as we drove up to it. It looked newer, different. Over the main doors was the name of the school itself, in large brass letters; when I had last seen these, they had been tarnished, grimy. Not unlike the school itself, I couldn't help thinking. Now, they were bright, obviously cleaned regularly.

I looked up at the name of the school as I got out of the car; it felt as though I were coming here for the first time. Which was simultaneously true and false, depending on the perspective from which one looked at it.

"Winslow High School," I murmured, reading it out loud. I turned to Nina. "So, is it really that great?"

She shrugged. "I haven't been to school in years, but I'm told it's one of the best. They apparently started computer studies courses a couple of years ago; Grantley still doesn't even _have_ computers, from what I hear."

"Good to hear," I replied. "I'll be glad to learn whatever they've got to teach me about computers."

Nina's voice was dry. "From what I understand, you don't have much to learn in that regard."

"There's always more to learn. Even when you think you know everything."

Nina shot me a look.

I looked back at her. "What?"

"It never fails," she observed, apparently more to herself than to me. "Every time I start thinking you're just another normal teenage girl, you go and say or do something totally out of left field."

"I don't get it," I confessed. Inside, I was considerably unsettled. _Did I say or do something that tipped her off?_

"Taylor." Her tone was patient. "The number of teenagers who _don't _believe that they know everything worth knowing is vanishingly small. The number of said teens who are willing to _admit_ it is even smaller."

"So what does this mean?" I asked, unwilling to comment on her statement.

"Short term? It gives a possible insight into whatever you were doing with your life before you got pulled out of the ocean," Nina told me.

To be honest, I could not argue with her. My life as a supervillain had done a lot to strip away my illusions.

"Long term?" she continued. "I foresee interesting times ahead for you and Winslow."

I had no real answer for that.

-ooo-

We crossed the parking lot, and climbed the stairs. Inside the front doors, someone was waiting. I didn't get a good look at her until she unlocked the doors and ushered us in. When I did see her, I nearly stopped dead in shock.

It was Principal Blackwell.

Lisa's warning came to me a second or so later, and I managed to get my brain back into gear with barely a hitch in my step. _"Remember that Ms Blackwell isn't the principal, just another teacher."_

I looked again; she was twenty years younger, old enough to be a teacher while still quite obviously dressing to appear one with the hip crowd.

The years would not be kind to her; she was slender and attractive now, with longer hair, swept into a stylish cut. Slender would become narrow, the carefully-trimmed blonde hair would end up in an unbecoming bowl cut, and her features would end up severe and forbidding.

I had no idea what she would go through in the years between to transform her into the Principal Blackwell I had known. But still I could recognise her, recognise in her the woman who would tacitly condone more than a year of torment at the hands of Emma and her cronies.

_Well, not if I can help it._ But that was a thought for the future. Here and now, we had other business.

* * *

"Thank you," Nina said to her, offering her hand. "I'm Nina Veder, and this is Taylor Snow. We're here to see Principal Woodbine."

"Carrie Blackwell," she replied, shaking Nina's hand. "I teach Home Economics. Pleased to meet you, Nina, Taylor. I'll take you to him now."

Despite her politeness, I noticed that she did not offer to shake my hand. It didn't exactly surprise me.

The question which nagged at the back of my mind was, _How could Lisa even tell me that Blackwell would be a teacher here? Was it something she told me, before, or is she really …_

I cut that line of thought off before it could go too far. If the truth was one thing, I didn't need to know. If it was the other, I didn't _want_ to know.

-ooo-

The journey through the halls of Winslow High was an education in itself. As on the outside, the paintwork was brighter, fresher, newer. No graffiti of any sort was visible on the walls, a minor miracle for the Winslow of my day. More polished wood was on display, and the lockers along the wall were clean and shining and new.

This was Winslow before its fall into disgrace; the Winslow that was the Arcadia of its day. Even without the students in the halls, it fairly _hummed_ with the promise of the future.

Well, I could tell anyone who cared what its future would be. Whether they believed me would be another matter entirely.

I picked out my locker by eye as we walked past; I thought I had repressed my involuntary shudder, but Nina evidently picked something up.

"Taylor?" she asked. "Is something the matter?"

I shook my head. "Nothing. Just felt a chill down my back."

"Or you remembered something. Does this place remind you of something?"

It reminded me of something all right; it reminded me of the very worst years of my life. But I shook my head. "It's a school. I might have had bad experiences in the last school I was at."

Carrie Blackwell was eyeing me curiously. "Do you have memory problems, Taylor?"

I looked at Nina; she pursed her lips. "Perhaps this should be covered at the meeting," she suggested.

Ms Blackwell nodded, although I could tell that she was still curious. "As you say."

-ooo-

"Taylor's been through a traumatic experience, and is suffering from specific retrograde amnesia," Nina informed the room briskly. "However, she shows no signs of loss of cognitive function, and has indeed reacquired a few facts from the time before the experience."

"Oh," replied Principal Woodbine. "That's good then." He frowned. "So when you say 'retrograde' amnesia ..." He was in his fifties, a once powerful frame now going to fat, a little vague rather than intense, with a kindly air to him. His closely-trimmed black hair was going grey, and he had the stains of a smoker on his fingers.

"I mean, covering the time before the traumatic experience," Nina told him patiently

"Just stuff about my life and my family," I put in helpfully. "I recall basic educational facts, just not when or where I learned them."

"Ah," Ms Blackwell observed. "So, no learning difficulties observed?"

"I've tested her as best I could on basic math, reading and writing skills, and knowledge of basic science and history," Nina put in. "She had no difficulty with any of it. In addition, she seems to display a distinct affinity for computers."

"Really?" commented the third member of the faculty present. "That's interesting to know."

"Mr Murray's our Computer Studies teacher," Woodbine explained. "He's always happy to find a student who's interested in using them for more than – what's that phrase you keep using, Brett?"

"A glorified typewriter," supplied Mr Murray. He seemed to be cut from the same mold as Woodbine, but at least twenty years younger, a few pounds lighter, and with buzz-cut reddish hair instead of black. He was trying to grow a moustache; it wasn't going well. "Too many of my students see computers as typewriters with screens, and decide that mine is a do-nothing class where they can while away the minutes passing notes to one another until it's time to go home."

"Taylor has been recently hired on by the Port Authority to help maintain their computer systems," Nina pointed out. Dead silence ensued, as each member of the faculty took that statement on board.

"Uh, really?" asked Murray cautiously. "What computers do they have, if you don't mind my asking?"

I thought about my reply before I answered him. "Well, without giving away too many details, they're Hewlett Packard nine thousands, running a specialised version of UNIX. The programming language is a proprietary mod, though, so I'm not allowed to say anything about that."

* * *

More silence fell; Woodbine and Blackwell looked at me as though I had begun babbling in Urdu. Mr Murray, however, sat forward. "Miss Snow," he said with just a hint of pleading, "would you like to be in my computer studies class? Please?"

Nina raised an eyebrow. "You realise, she may already be beyond what you teach in your class."

Murray shrugged. "As a teacher's aide, then? I like computers, and I can see what potential they have for the future, but all too often, I'm just supplying the lesson plan as suggested by the textbooks. I'm not that _good_ with them."

I cleared my throat. "I'm coming to Winslow to _learn_, Mr Murray. I don't want to be treated any differently by the faculty. I can look over the textbooks and give you what help I can, but at the end of the day, I'm just going to be another student in your class, and I expect to be treated accordingly."

Trying to break the serious mood, I shrugged and added with a grin, "Besides, I might not know the first thing about the computers you've got here."

"Well spoken, young lady, well spoken," Principal Woodbine said approvingly, bestowing an avuncular gaze upon me. However, Nina gave me another one of her odd looks, and I belatedly realised that I had shown altogether too mature an outlook. Again.

It was true though; all I wanted was to be just treated as another student, no better and no worse. I didn't want to be seen as different, better, unusual; any of that could interfere with my future plans. By the time I left school, I wanted people to have forgotten my strange origins, or at least to not be worried about them.

-ooo-

We exited the school once more, my arms heavy with textbooks. The remainder of the meeting had gone well, being mainly a discussion of class schedules, when and how I was to get to school every day, and exactly how much paperwork had to be filed before I was officially enrolled.

The answer to that last one was 'a lot'.

Ms Blackwell, due to being the junior member of the faculty present (I had no doubt that her being the only female teacher present also had something to do with this) had supplied us with tea and coffee. Brett Murray had made a lame joke about 'putting her Home Economics skills to good use'. I had offered to assist, but she had turned me down.

All in all, it seemed, Principal Woodbine thought it was a good idea to take me on, although I was not under any illusion that he would give me preferential treatment once I was attending classes. Mr Murray was transparently anxious for me to join his Computer Studies course, and he had also mentioned a 'computer club' which he was doing his best to maintain outside of school hours.

Ms Blackwell, on the other hand, was coolly polite to me the whole way through. I wasn't sure why; perhaps she disapproved of women being more interested in computers than Home Economics. Or perhaps she just resented giving up her Saturday to come in to school and serve tea and coffee to last-minute enrolees.

* * *

"Just by the way, Taylor, who is your legal guardian of record?" asked Woodbine, toward the close of the meeting.

I looked at Nina, and she at me. "I ... didn't think I needed one. I'm seventeen, after all." Adding a year; not so great a fib. I was, after all, tall for my age.

"You're not _required_ to have one, no. It's just that it makes things so much easier for us if you do have one." He looked at Nina. "Ms Veder?"

Nina looked startled. "I ... honestly speaking? I would do it in a heartbeat, but Taylor cannot live with me. My home situation is ... difficult."

"So where _are_ you living, Taylor?" asked Woodbine pleasantly.

"With the Heberts. George and Dot – Dorothy. Mrs Hebert – Dorothy – is more or less my boss at the Port Authority."

"They also have a son," Nina supplied dryly. I winced; I was sure there would be a conversation, later, about _that _little omission. "Danny."

"Ah, yes," noted Principal Woodbine. "Young Dan Hebert. He was here at Winslow just a few years ago. A good lad. How _is_ he doing?"

"Working on the docks with his father," Nina reported. "He's shaping up well."

"Excellent, excellent," Woodbine said approvingly, then his tone turned serious. "Ms Veder, I do not wish to discourage you or Taylor, but we really would prefer that she have a legal guardian of record. Purely for administrative purposes, of course."

Nina nodded. "I'll talk it over with the Heberts and see what we can come up with. Is it okay for Taylor to attend in the meantime?"

"Oh, certainly," agreed Woodbine. He bestowed another avuncular look upon me. "You appear to have a good head upon your shoulders, Miss Snow; it would be a shame and a pity to let you go to another school now."

I nodded; that seemed safest. "Thank you, sir," I replied.

Shortly after that, the required textbooks had been assembled, and a receipt for same signed. I would bring in the money for them on Monday morning.

-ooo-

"Where _am_ I going to get the money for these?" I asked Nina as I lugged the textbooks out to the car. "The Port Authority job isn't going to be paying me for another week or more."

"I'll cover it. You can owe me." Her tone was light, but she meant it.

I snorted. "I already owe you an arm and a leg, and the vital organ of your choice. I feel bad taking your money like this."

"I trust you to repay me. After all, I know where you live." She grinned to show that it was a joke.

"Which reminds me," I commented. "How are we going to settle the legal guardianship thing? Now that I have legal existence, I had kind of assumed that I could be my own legal guardian."

Nina chuckled fondly. "Taylor, dear, what the law says and the way things really are? Quite often two different things. You may be legally of age to do a good many things, more when you turn eighteen, and yet more when you reach your twenty-first. But until then, even though the law _says_ you're an adult, quite a few people will find entirely plausible reasons to not treat you like one."

* * *

I considered that. I had rarely gotten a square deal from the heroes when I was a teenage supervillain, but I had put that mainly down to them being dicks. Could their perception of me being too young to make binding decisions for myself have coloured their options, guided their choices of action? It was something to ask Lisa about.

But for now, I was enrolled at Winslow – or would be, once the paperwork was filled out – and so my plans were on track. "I see your point," I admitted. "Where do we go from here?"

"Well, I have an appointment this afternoon, so I could drop you wherever you want, and you can take the bus home, or I can drop you straight home."

I thought about it. "Straight home, thanks." I indicated the pile of textbooks I was carrying in my lap. "I don't really feel like carrying these around town."

She nodded, starting the car. "Straight home it is."

-ooo-

"Nina," I ventured after several minutes on the road, "was it just me, or did Ms Blackwell not like me?"

She glanced over at me. "Now that you mention it, she didn't seem to take to you very much," she mused. "Of course, it _could_ be because she noticed that you don't like her very much, either."

Startled, I stared at her. "Wait, _what?"_

" ... huh. You weren't even aware of it yourself."

"Aware of _what?"_

"Your body language was hostile toward her from the moment you met her. In fact, when you met her, I thought you knew her for certain. But she showed no signs of recognising you, so I'm guessing it's one of your quirky memories playing up. At a guess, you knew someone in your previous life who you didn't like very much, and who Ms Blackwell reminds you of."

"Ah," was all I could say. Nina Veder was _sharp._ She was correct on all essential points, of course; if she only knew that I was a time traveller, all the clues would fall into place for her.

I just had to hope and pray that she would not make that last logical leap.

-ooo-

Nina pulled up at the curb, outside the Hebert house. She squeezed my shoulder before I got out. "Take care, Taylor. I'll be around later tonight to help out with the paperwork."

"Thanks." I got out, then bumped the door shut with my hip, my hands being full at the time. Giving me a wave through the closed window, she drove off.

I crossed the lawn and climbed the front steps. On the second try, I managed to nudge the doorbell with my elbow. Danny answered the door a few moments later.

"Taylor!" he greeted me, obviously pleased. Over his shoulder, he added, "Mom! Taylor's home!"

That gave me pause to think. Was this house really 'home' for me any more? Would it ever be that for me again? Was the warm feeling I got from walking in the front door due only to my memories, or did I really feel as though I belonged here? _Did _I belong here?

Dot, bustling in from the kitchen, interrupted my musings. "It's good to see you back. How did it go?"

"Pretty good," I replied, heading through to the living room and dumping the stack of textbooks on the couch. I gave a sigh of relief; I had built up some muscle tone as Skitter and Weaver, but with my build, I would never have much in the way of upper body strength.

"Well, good and bad," I amended, flopping on to the couch beside the stack. "The police have absolutely no leads on who I might be. Which basically means that I've never been fingerprinted, really."

Danny sat on the other side of the stack and poked at it. "So what's the good news? And what's all this stuff?"

"The good news is that, with Ms Veder's help, I've been put back into the system. I now exist, legally speaking. Also, that pending the filling out of all this paperwork," I lifted the thickly packed manila envelope from atop the stack of books, "I've been accepted into Winslow."

Danny picked up the top book and looked at it. "Textbooks. Right." He shot me a sidelong glance. "So, is you getting into Winslow in the 'good news' or 'bad news' category?"

I grinned back at him. "Still figuring that one out."

He chuckled in return, paging through the book. "Wow, this takes me back."

"Yeah. Principal Woodbine remembered your name. You only left a few years ago? What are the teachers like?"

"Well -" he began, just as the phone rang in the kitchen. We both paused while Dot answered it.

A moment later she called out, "Taylor? It's for you."

Danny and I shared a glance and a shrug; I got up and headed into the kitchen. "Who is it?" I asked.

"It's Williams, the weekend manager at the Port Authority. He says he's having trouble with that machine." _That machine_ was what she called the computer system that had been installed in the Port Authority building.

"I left clear written instructions," I protested.

She nodded. "I know. But it appears that they weren't clear enough. Would you be a dear ..?"

I rolled my eyes, then nodded. "I'll just get my Walkman."

"Do you really need your music that badly?" she asked curiously.

"It helps me focus my thoughts," I told her.

"Well, if it works, it works. Far be it from me to criticise your methods."

-ooo-

I was back downstairs in just a few moments, with Walkman in hand. Dot had been speaking soothingly on the phone; as I approached, she said, "Here she is now. I'll just put her on."

I dragged a chair over to the phone, and sat down, then accepted the receiver off of Dot.

"Hi," I said. "This is Taylor. What seems to be the problem?"

"_You sound really young,"_ said a male voice on the other end of the line.

"I'm sure it's something I'll grow out of. Now, what's the computer doing?"

"_Nothing," _he said. _"Seriously, nothing. Something's gone wrong with it."_

I took a deep breath. "Calm down. Now, what's the last thing it did before it stopped working?"

It took me a little while, but I managed to coax some details out of him. "Right," I reassured him. "I'm just going to give you back to Mrs Hebert for a moment while I check something out." I handed the phone back, put the earphones on, and started the tape.

-ooo-

_Lisa stood over a golf tee, shifting her feet until her stance was just right. The course stretched away into the distance, alongside the massive edifice of the memory palace. She wore a light blouse, a short skirt, and golfing shoes. A golden tan adorned her arms and legs._

_**Uh, Lisa –**__ I began._

"_Sh! Concentrating. Very important."_

_I watched, amused, as she addressed the ball, wriggling her butt under the short skirt._

_With the utmost solemnity, she pulled the club up and back, then poised for a moment before commencing her swing. The club came down and around, struck the ball squarely, and smacked it into the middle distance._

"_There," she said with satisfaction, turning to face me. "How can I help you?"_

_I raised an eyebrow. __**You don't play golf,**__ I observed._

_She grinned. "Teaching myself. It's something to do. Computer problems?"_

_I nodded. __**An error message I'm not sure about.**_

_She reached into the golf bag and handed me the tablet. "There you go."_

_While I studied the emulator, she set up another ball._

"_Should I shout 'Fore' or not?" she asked, as she readied herself._

_**I wouldn't worry about it. Unless there's someone else here I'm not aware of,**__ I commented absently._

"_No, but it's the look of the thing." She took a deep breath, yelled "Fore!" then swung the club. The ball disappeared along the general track of the last one._

_I found the error message, pulled up the instructions for fixing it, and nodded. It seemed straightforward enough._

_I handed the tablet back. __**Thanks. And I think your swing is improving.**_

"_You think so?" she grinned, then leaned forward and kissed me. Her lips tasted of dust and blood. A wind blew up, bearing dust and grit. I blinked._

-ooo-

I opened my eyes and shut off the tape, pulled off the headphones. Dot was talking on the phone to Williams. Danny was standing by, watching me with interest.

"Got it," I mouthed to Dot.

She said, "Ah, she's back," and handed the phone over.

I took it. "Right. What you've got to do is this …"

It took a few more minutes to walk him through the procedure, but I could hear the palpable relief in his voice as the computer responded to the commands I was telling him to enter.

When the computer was apparently back up and running in normal operating mode, I handed the phone back to Dot. He seemed to be thanking her profusely, from the amused tone of her replies, and then she hung up.

"That was impressive," she told me. "You'll be paid for that, of course. I made sure that any consultation would have a minimum pay period of one hour."

I grinned at her. "Sounds good to me."

-ooo-

I headed back to the sofa, absently wrapping the headphones cord around the Walkman as I went. Danny came with me; again, we sat on either side of the stack of books.

"So, you were saying?" I prompted him.

Uncharacteristically, Danny ignored my question. "How did you do that? You just zoned out and listened to your music, then picked up the phone and told the guy how to fix it."

I shrugged. "I need the music to focus. It lets me remember stuff I've learned. Sometimes."

"So you can fix your memory problems?"

I shook my head. "No. It's a self-hypnosis thing. I can't get more than fragments, but I _can_ recover procedures I've learned. Such as how to use computers. Nina – Ms Veder – is hopeful that I can get more use out of it later on, though."

"That'll be really great. I hope you do find out who you really are and where you're from."

"Thanks, Danny. I appreciate it." I paused, trying to shift the topic away from me without being too obvious about it. "But you were about to tell me about the teachers."

"I was? Oh yeah, I was." Danny paused for a few moments. "Well, Woodbine's all right, but if you get caught breaking the school rules, he can be a holy terror. There was one time I was …"

* * *

I settled back on the sofa and listened to his appraisal of the Winslow teachers. Soon enough, I would be meeting them in the classroom, learning from them. Anything I could learn _about_ them beforehand was valuable data.

I had come to this time, this place, with a minimum of preparation. Now, I had a wealth of data at my fingertips, and time to prepare.

Preparation was everything.

With sufficient preparation, I could change the world.

* * *

End of Part Seven


	8. Chapter 8

-ooo-

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 1-7: Sunday at the Heberts'

* * *

_I walked through gently rolling green fields, hand in hand with Lisa. She wore comfortable, casual clothes; skinny jeans and a belly tee. Her dark blonde hair blew loose in the cool breeze. She looked happy, relaxed._

_We stopped to climb over a drystone wall. __**Where are we?**_

_"England. Or at least, your idea of England."_

_**But I've never been there.**_

_She chuckled, amused. "Doesn't matter. You hear about a place, see pictures, you form an impression, a mental image of the place. This is yours. It's nice. I like it."_

_**Why are we here?**_

_"I thought it might be fun to visit England. I've got all the time in the world. Now that I'm dead, I might as well live a little."_

_**That makes no sense.**_

_"Imaginary dream world, remember? Doesn't need to."_

_**Oh. Yeah. Good point.**_

_She steered us toward a large oak tree. The branches were, inexplicably, festooned with bright yellow ribbons. Under it, an old-fashioned square wicker basket had been placed in the middle of a red-and-white chequered blanket._

_"And there's our picnic basket," she announced happily._

_I eyed the ribbons in the tree. __**Yellow ribbons?**__ I asked. __**Isn't there an old song about that?**_

_She nodded. "You heard it, once upon a time. Pop culture will sneak in from time to time, I'm afraid. Come on, let's eat."_

_So we sat on either side of the picnic basket, which just so happened to contain our favourite snacks, and we talked as old friends do, with the silences saying as much as the words._

_The eternal golden afternoon wore on, and the yellow ribbons rustled softly among the leaves, and Lisa and I enjoyed our picnic._

* * *

_When at last I decided that I had to go, I stood up and stretched._

_**I enjoyed this. We're going to have to do it again.**_

"_As often as you like," Lisa reminded me. "You know where to find me."_

_Impulsively, I put my arms around her and hugged her. After her initial start of surprise, she hugged me back. It felt nice._

_**I know we've covered most all the topics of conversation about Winslow, but do you have any last minute advice?**_

"_Sure," she replied with a grin. "When you get back from the run, don't be surprised. The clues were there. And don't worry about Danny; that problem's going to be solved soon."_

_I rolled my eyes. __**Typical Lisa. Cryptic as ever.**_

_She grinned. "Hey, a girl's gotta have her fun." She leaned up toward me, still in the embrace. "Kiss before you go?"_

_As our lips made contact, one of the yellow ribbons fluttered in the breeze, and flicked at my eye. I blinked …_

-ooo-

… and I was awake. Upon my lips I could still taste the dust and blood that would forever mark my memories of our last parting in reality.

We had indeed discussed my upcoming re-entry into Winslow; she hadn't had much in the way of specific advice for me. Basically, it boiled down to 'keep your head down, follow the plan'. Which was, after all, my intention anyway.

Still, it had been nice to visit with Lisa, as imaginary, or not, as she might be. In life, she had been my best friend and staunchest ally; in death, she still had my back. I may not have been able to puzzle out the exact circumstances of her existence within my dreams and hypnotic state, but I was glad she was there.

I spent a moment puzzling over her parting advice, but decided that it was simpler just to let things happen and see what she meant afterward.

* * *

I climbed out of bed and dressed in my sweats, wondering if Danny would be up again to go running with me. I needn't have wondered; as I descended the stairs, I saw him sitting on the sofa, tying his laces.

"Morning," I greeted him, keeping my voice down for the benefit of his parents.

"Morning, Taylor," he replied. It was eerie; if I squinted, I could almost see and hear my father, twenty years older, saying the same thing.

He would never say it to _me_ again in that way, of course. But maybe, hopefully, someday he would say it to this timeline's version of me.

That was if I didn't prevent 'myself' from being born. I really hoped that I wouldn't.

-ooo-

We made it farther on that morning's run. Danny was learning to pace himself, and I eased up slightly to give him a chance. It was fun to run with someone; the companionship was nice. All the awkwardness of the last few days aside, Danny was a friend, and I needed all the friends I could get.

I could see in him the man he would become, the father he would be to the younger me. There was an earnestness in him, a striving to do right by people. In later years, this would be frustrated by red tape and bureaucracy, by legal wrangling and subtle agendas. He would be worn down by it, left wondering what had gone wrong.

As a child, I had loved my father. As a teenager, I had liked him. Now, as a contemporary, I respected him, for his willingness to go the extra mile for what he believed in. Even if he didn't know that about himself yet.

-ooo-

We stopped for a breather, more for his benefit than mine, though I didn't mind it.

"So, you think you'll do all right at Winslow?" he asked, leaning over with hands on his knees, sweat streaming down his face.

"Don't do it like that," I advised him. "Stand up and lean back. It lets you get more air in your lungs." I paused, thinking about his question. "Sure. They leave me alone, I'll leave them alone. It looks like a nice place."

"Do you remember anything about your last school?" he asked, following my advice and taking deep breaths.

"Not a thing," I lied cheerfully. "Caught your breath? Good. Come on. Let's see if we can't beat our time on the way back."

-ooo-

When we got back to the house, Dot was not cooking breakfast. Instead, to my surprise, she was all dressed up; a nice dress, her hair was brushed till it shone, and she was even wearing a dab of makeup.

"What's the occasion?" I asked.

"Church," Danny informed me. "Crap. I forgot." He dashed up the stairs.

"Church?" I repeated stupidly.

"Yes," Dot informed me austerely. "We attend morning Mass every Sunday, without fail. Up you go, young lady. Danny won't be long in the shower; use that time in deciding what you will wear. Something demure and ladylike; I presume Nina Veder bought you something along those lines?"

"Uh, yes, ma'am," I gulped. This was a side of Dot that I had not see before. She had a steely glint in her eye which gave me a hint into the hidden depths that allowed her to hold her own in her marriage with the somewhat-forceful George. I trailed up the stairs in Danny's wake.

It was only when I got back to my room that I realised something. _This was what Lisa was referring to._

_How did she __**know?**_

I gave it up as a bad job. In any case, I needed to get ready.

-ooo-

Dad and I had never been very religious, especially after we lost Mom, so the experience was somewhat new to me. I seemed to recall some aspects of the ceremony, but not enough to make me comfortable with it. Where I faltered, Danny coached me in a quiet whisper, and I mostly managed to keep up.

Dorothy seemed to approve of my choice of attire – a winter-weight blouse and a knee-length denim skirt – and introduced me around as "Taylor, who's staying with us." I met what seemed like dozens of people, had my hand shaken what felt like hundreds of times, and was stared at by strangers until I began to wonder if I had a smudge on my face or something.

Some of the young men seemed interested in striking up conversations; I wasn't particularly in the mood to make any new social connections, and so I was actually glad when George glowered at them in a most discouraging manner.

I stuck close to Dot while she chatted with some of her friends. Never a very social person, I supposed that one function of the church was to bring people together. If I had wanted to speak to anyone there, they would have been polite enough to talk to me in return. But in truth, I wasn't very comfortable in that particular situation; with my lack of religious conviction, I felt as though I had a large neon sign saying "ATHEIST" on my forehead.

* * *

The trip back home was as uncomfortably cramped as the trip out had been; with four of us in the cab of the old truck, the only thing that let us fit at all was the fact that Dot, Danny and I were all exceptionally skinny in the hips.

Dot chatted with George on the way back; or rather, Dot chattered and George made monosyllabic replies. Danny joined in occasionally, but I stayed silent; I had a bit to think about.

-ooo-

Nina arrived at the house just after midday. I was pleased to see her; I had been wrestling with the pile of paperwork ever since we got back from Mass, and it felt as though there was no end to it.

"Ms Veder!" I greeted her happily, standing up from the kitchen table to give her a hug. "You came just in time. I was about to go throw myself in the Bay, to see if maybe I could forget this mound of paperwork."

She chuckled and ruffled my hair. "Let me have a look at it. It can't be all that bad."

"That's what I've been telling her," Dot interjected good-humouredly.

"Where are Danny and George?" asked Nina, as she sat down next to me.

"George is at the bar with the boys, and Danny's visiting young Alan Barnes; you remember him, don't you, Nina?"

"Red hair, bulky in the shoulders? Yes, I remember him. Studying law at Harvard, as I recall?"

Nina turned over a page, scanning the print even as she spoke to Dot.

"Oh yes," Dot replied proudly, opening the oven to release a billow of fragrant steam. "His parents had to scrimp and save to get him there, but he's doing quite well, or so I hear."

"What sort of law is he studying up on?" I asked casually.

Dot reached into the oven with a long-handled fork and poked at the roast. "He didn't say, dear. Probably financial law or the like; he's ever so intelligent."

"Maybe he's doing cape law," I suggested jokingly. I knew he wasn't, but I figured it was worth a chuckle.

Both women turned to look at me. _"Cape_ law?" asked Dot. "What's that?"

"Um, you know, the law to do with capes. Parahumans," I added lamely, as they didn't seem to get the idea. "Superheroes."

Nina's face cleared. "Ah, of course." She patted her shoulder. "Because they wear capes."

I nodded. "Yeah. It's a sort of slang term, I guess."

"I don't think it's a good idea to use it," Dot told me reprovingly. "Where did you hear it?'

_Oh crap,_ I thought. _'Cape' isn't a term in common use yet._ "I, I guess I made it up," I stammered.

Nina frowned, and I knew she had caught on to my hesitation. But she said nothing.

"It's a simple word, an easy word," Dot went on. "It trivialises them, what they stand for. And I don't think that's wise."

"Why not?' asked Nina.

"Look around you," Dot told her severely. "These parahumans are in the news virtually every day. In just seven years, they have changed the world in many ways. They aren't going away. We shouldn't think of them as just another fad that will fade into the background and disappear. Calling them something like 'capes' trivialises that fact, makes us complacent about them."

For a moment, she looked old, and fragile, birdlike. "I was born before the Second World War. I grew up hearing of the atrocities committed by the Nazis and the Japanese upon helpless civilians. When people get it into their heads that they can do _that_ to other people, bad things happen. What happens when those people thinking that sort of thing can lift a truck over their heads, or fly at the speed of sound?"

She shook her head. "No; parahumans need to be taken very, very seriously. Calling them such a simple, silly name makes it easier for them to look harmless to us. And harmless is the very last thing that they are."

I frowned. _Is Dot an anti-cape bigot too? The things I never knew about my own family._

"Dot," I ventured, "you do know that many of them mean well, and do good things in the community."

"Oh, I know _that_, sweetie," she replied, her smile returning. "I just think that we need to be careful about how we view them. The good ones are good, of course, but the bad ones have the potential to be very bad indeed."

I couldn't argue with that. I had seen, if not the worst of the parahuman condition, then far more of the bad than most people my age.

"So you think there should be a branch of the law dedicated to parahumans?" Nina asked me.

"Uh, isn't there already?" I replied, taken aback. "I mean, with what they can do, and the fact that many of them are more or less armed with deadly weapons every hour of the day ..."

I trailed off, as they were both regarding me strangely again.

"Surely not _all_ of them are walking weapons," Nina protested. "Some just fly and the like, right?"

I didn't know how to answer that, without exposing myself to more and more awkward questions. Whatever I said, I would be digging myself deeper.

_Yes, but every single cape ever is geared toward some sort of conflict, be it directly or indirectly._

_How do you know that?_

_I, uh, read it in a book?_

* * *

The silence stretched; just as it threatened to become awkward, I was rescued by a most unlikely saviour.

"I would be very surprised if things were that simple, young Nina." Dot's tone was thoughtful. "There aren't many parahumans around in Brockton Bay at the moment – in fact, I don't know of a single one – but there are more in America than there were even just a few years ago. And I do not think that the trend is reversing. So in a few more years, we will have more parahumans around than ever before. Maybe some right here in Brockton Bay."

She paused, considering her words. "And then ... _then_ you can take your statistical sample and decide whether or not there are any 'harmless' parahumans around. Myself? I suspect not. And Taylor here, I believe, feels the same way."

"Yeah, basically," I agreed, with a nod.

Nina regarded us both. "You know," she commented, "I'm actually inclined to believe you. But we're not here to debate the parahuman question. We're here to make sure you get into Winslow, Taylor. So ... let's get cracking on this paperwork."

I nodded gratefully. "Sure. Let's do that."

-ooo-

For a petite woman of advancing years, Dorothy Hebert seemed to have an inner reserve of boundless energy. While Nina and I trudged reluctantly through the paperwork, she bustled about the kitchen, preparing the Sunday afternoon luncheon. And in between checking on the roast, putting other dishes on to cook, and setting others aside to cool, she still found time to chat to us about what we were doing.

Most of the paperwork, we worked out, was not hard to sort out. Where it came down to the pinch, in fact, was the problem that had been pointed out by Principal Woodbine. I needed a legal guardian of record, and I needed a fixed home address. Unfortunately, the paperwork seemed to indicate that if I was not residing with my legal guardian, I needed to provide an explanation for my not doing so.

* * *

"I'm quite prepared to act as your legal guardian in this matter," Nina assured me, "but this residency clause is going to give us problems."

"Residency clause?" asked Dot, who had apparently managed to squeeze five minutes out of her cooking duties.

Nina explained the circumstances to her, and my grandmother mulled it over in silence.

"So, they want Taylor to reside with her legal guardian," she mused.

"Yes," Nina agreed. "And I can't ask you to take on the job. You've enough on your plate as it is."

Dot was leafing through the papers, balancing her spectacles on the end of her nose.

"Perhaps I can," she commented unexpectedly.

"No, George would never stand for it," Nina told her.

"If I signed on as Taylor's sole legal guardian, yes," Dot agreed. "But there's an option here for dual guardianship, such as in the case of a married or de facto couple."

"Neither of which describes us," Nina responded.

"Ah, but it doesn't state that the guardians _have_ to be in any sort of relationship," pointed out Dot triumphantly, "nor that they have to even be living together. Just that they agree to share the duties of the guardianship, and that _at least one_ of them is in residence with the minor in question."

Silence fell. Nina and I stared at Dot for a long moment. Then Nina started flipping through the pages rapidly. In the end, she sat back, thinking.

"It _would_ make life easier," she admitted. "And of course, only if you're willing to go ahead with it."

"Pish tosh," Dorothy admonished her. "Of course I am. Taylor's a dear, and she almost feels like the daughter I never had, anyway."

_Granddaughter,_ I corrected her mentally, but this time I was wise enough to not open my mouth. Some things were better left unsaid.

-ooo-

With Dorothy and Nina co-signing as joint legal guardians, the last problems fell away. We went over the paperwork one more time, to make sure all the requisite points were filled out, and we each signed in the appropriate places.

With a sigh of relief, I put the pen down and massaged my hand.

"Wow," I commented. "And here I thought I'd have to wait a few more years until I'd have to deal with this much paperwork in one go."

Nina chuckled complacently. "Trust me, Taylor, in my job, paperwork like this lands on my desk fairly regularly. I don't _like_ it, but I do it anyway. Because there's not much in the way of an alternative."

_Roll on computers,_ I thought fervently. This would have been much easier with a hyperlinked e-document. But then, I reminded myself, it would have been much more difficult to step back into society, in America of twenty years hence. In 2011, it was almost impossible to not be on file _somewhere_, and the presence of a ghost in the system would have excited a certain amount of official curiosity. I didn't need that.

So maybe a lack of computers was a good thing. Of sorts.

Dot chuckled. "If you think that was a bear, wait till George gets home. We're going to have to tell him, of course."

Nina raised an eyebrow. "But his name isn't on the paperwork anywhere. What reason would he have to complain?"

Dorothy Hebert, my grandmother and one of my legal guardians, sighed. "It happened under his roof without his express permission. Of course he's going to complain."

-ooo-

"Why am I not surprised?" asked George acerbically. "I leave the house for three hours, and when I return, you've gone and adopted our house-guest."

"Not _adopted, _dear," Dot pointed out gently. "I've just agreed to act as her legal guardian if and when she needs me to, and when Nina Veder is unable to do it for her." She didn't explain the residency clause; George was all too capable of pointing out the obvious way for the arrangement to be rendered null and void.

"So how is it not adoption?" George shot back. "Did Nina put you up to it?"

"No, dear. I came up with the idea all on my own. And it's not adoption because Taylor won't be taking our name and won't be legally related to us. It just allows Nina and myself to represent Taylor in those cases where someone over the age of eighteen or twenty-one is required to be present."

"So I've got no responsibilities here?"

"That's right, dear. It's just me and Nina."

He looked somewhat mollified at that.

"And as soon as she turns eighteen, it's over?"

"Basically, yes, dear."

"And when's that again?"

"January second," Nina supplied. I had 'remembered' it for the paperwork; January first was a little too convenient, a little too pat. But January second was just another date. It put me at the top of the age group for the class, and was easy to remember.

At a stroke, I had advanced my effective age by eighteen months, but that was fine. I was tall for my age, and if my parents were any indication, I would get taller. And I always had been good at class work, at least until I began attending Winslow – that is, in September two thousand nine. Hopefully, this time round would not be as traumatic.

George would not let the subject go. "But she'll still be staying here, even after that?"

"And paying her way, yes, dear."

It was a not so subtle reminder that I was gainfully employed and would not be sponging off of the household; he took her meaning, and acknowledged the point with a sour grunt.

I stepped away from the discussion, and nudged Nina to follow me. "Which reminds me," I murmured. "Monday sometime, we need to open a bank account for me."

She nodded, keeping her voice down. "Yes. I'll pick you up after school and we'll go and do it then."

"Sounds like a plan."

"In any case, you might want to go and freshen up. I understand that the guests will be arriving shortly."

I nodded. "Good idea."

-ooo-

Alan Barnes regarded me quizzically. "So you can't remember _anything?"_

I shurgged. "My name, my date of birth, sure. Where I was born, where I grew up, not so much. How to do stuff, but not how I learned how to do it. That sort of thing."

Zoe, his wife, looked up from where she was carefully feeding their young baby at the table. Anne, I recalled. That was her name. Emma's older sister. Emma, who wasn't even born yet.

"Did Danny really rescue you from the deck of a sinking yacht?" she asked. She was about nineteen or twenty; her husband was a couple of years older. Sweet and petite, she looked about my age – my _real_age, even.

I shook my head. "I was in the water. Something hit me pretty hard on the back of the head. I was going under, and then Danny jumped in and grabbed me."

"And why you weren't wearing a life-jacket, underwear or no underwear, I will never fathom," growled George from the head of the table. "Basic safety rules. If people followed them, we'd cut drownings by ninety percent."

"I'm really sorry, Mr Hebert," I replied as meekly as I was able, "but I can't give you a good answer on that, because I don't know myself."

Alan looked admiringly at Danny. "Damn, it sounds like something out of an action movie."

"Well, _I'm_ glad he was there," I assured him. Glancing up at the head of the table, I added, "I'm glad the boat was there, with the whole crew. I wouldn't be sitting here if it weren't for you and all your men, Mr Hebert."

He nodded, grudgingly accepting the acknowledgement. "You'll be wearing a lifejacket next time," he warned me.

"Oh, that's a guarantee," I assured him. "I don't intend to go through _that_ twice."

There was a general chuckle, and the topic of conversation shifted to other matters.

-ooo-

Sunday luncheon went on; Danny and George engaged Alan in talk about Cambridge, while Dot and Nina cooed over little Anne Barnes. I joined in, as much for protective colouration as anything else. While I think babies are cute, I don't have an overriding urge to admire them for minutes at a time.

Anne, I gathered, was the reason that Alan and Zoe were back in Brockton Bay. While they had both been living in Cambridge so that Alan could attend Harvard, Anne's arrival had made Zoe's life a little more hectic than she had anticipated. Therefore, she was moving back to Brockton Bay with the baby to stay with her parents until she could manage on her own again. Alan had come back with her, to make sure she was settled before he left for Cambridge again.

I found it interesting to speak with them, so early in their lives. These were people I had known reasonably well, at least as well as a child can know an adult. I had spent years sleeping over at Emma's house, just as she had slept over at my house – this very house, in fact. Though the sleepovers were years in the future, if they ever happened at all in this timeline.

As Emma's guest, I had found Alan Barnes to be polite and friendly, although always with a slightly harried air. Zoe, equally polite, had always been on the quiet side; I figured that to be a side-effect of being married to a man whose job required him to project his personality. Even now, he was slightly larger than life, as if he occupied a volume of space a little larger than his skin.

* * *

Years of practising divorce law would affect Alan Barnes in subtle ways; he came at every problem with an us-versus-them mindset. When I had my encounter with Emma in the Weymouth Mall, he could have sought to mediate, to find out the truth of the matter. Instead, he turned on my father, the man who had been his good friend for more than twenty years, and quite deliberately threatened to bankrupt him if the problem did not go away. Power, however subtly, had corrupted him, just as it had corrupted many more before him.

I looked at him across the table, tried to see that man in him, and failed. He was a little brash, but friendly, inoffensive, and actually quite handsome in a bullish sort of way. Later in life, he would still have a powerful frame, but it would be going to fat; here and now, he was broad-shouldered and muscular. I would not have been surprised to find that he played football or some other aggressive sport.

-ooo-

It was evening; the sun had set, Alan and Zoe had left with Anne, and Nina had bid us goodnight as well. George and Dot had retired upstairs early, and I sat with Danny on the back porch steps.

"That was a really nice dinner," I told him. "Your mother's a good cook."

He beamed. "She is. I've tried to learn some of what she does, but I'll never be as good as she is."

I nudged him with my shoulder. "I figure you'll make a good cook someday. And thanks for helping me out at church today."

He nudged me back. "I've heard you talking cooking with Mom. You'd leave me for dead. And not a problem. I'm not so much into it myself, but Mom and Dad expect it, so ..."

I nodded understandingly. We sat for a moment in silence before he spoke again.

"So, what did you think of Alan and Zoe?"

"Nice people. Zoe's really nice, and Anne's just adorable."

His voice was contemplative. "Yeah. Alan can be a bit pushy, but I've known him since grade school. I'm glad he's got the chance to go to Harvard."

"Yeah, I got the impression he can be a bit aggressive." My voice was contemplative. "I just hope he doesn't let it take over his life. If he's not careful, he could hurt people."

Danny shook his head. "You don't know Alan like I do. He wouldn't do something like that."

I shrugged and let it go; it wasn't worth arguing about.

"So yeah," he went on, changing the subject. "Mom said she's your legal guardian now."

"Her and Ms Veder, yeah."

He tilted his head to one side. "So, does that sort of make you my sister now?"

I was about to disabuse him of the notion, but then it occurred to me that this was one way to put a certain subject to rest, once and for all.

"In a sorta-kinda roundabout way, yeah," I agreed.

"Huh," he mused. "That's kind of cool. I always wanted a little sister."

I elbowed him in the ribs. "Watch it with the 'little', buster. I'm nearly as tall as you are."

"Oof," he retorted, although I hadn't hit him that hard. "That's assault. I'm telling Mom on you."

I snorted. "You do and I'll beat you up."

"No fair," he complained, holding his hands up. "I was always taught not to hit girls."

"And yet, I fail to see the problem."

"Ha ha, so funny." He was silent for a moment; when he spoke again, his voice was somewhat more thoughtful. "So if I'm kinda your brother, this means ..."

I nodded. "This means that, yeah."

"Ah."

I turned to face him in the gathering gloom. "I will tell you someday, I promise. Just ... not today. Not any time soon."

His eyes searched mine. "Is there something ... do you remember something ...?"

My voice was sad. "I'm sorry. I can't tell you any more than that."

When he spoke, his voice was barely audible. "Okay."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

I leaned against his shoulder; we sat for a while after that, not speaking, but comfortable with each others' company.

-ooo-

As we were heading up to bed, Danny whispered, "Are you going running in the morning?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Figure you can keep up this time?"

His teeth were very white in the dimness. "I can only try."

"We'll see. See you in the morning."

"See you then."

* * *

We parted ways, he going into his bedroom, me padding farther down the hall to the spare bedroom. As I relaxed, letting drowsiness overtake me, I mused that Danny and I were becoming more relaxed and at ease with one another. There wasn't the awkwardness of strangers, nor the even worse awkwardness of the crush. This was something different, something new.

Acceptance.

Now that I had a niche in the household, now that I had attended Mass with them, he was more able to relate to me on a personal level. We could chat, and banter and joke with each other.

It was nice to feel part of a family once more.

With that thought in mind, I was drifting off to sleep when a new thought struck me.

_The problem with Danny was solved, just like Lisa said._

_Why is she doing this, giving me little hints and tips?_

_Is she trying to subtly show me that she really is alive, somehow? Or is there something else that she's trying to tell me?_

I was too tired to wonder long. Before I had it figured out, I was asleep.

* * *

End of Part 1-7


	9. Chapter 9

**\o/**

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 1-8: Back to School

* * *

"Pritchard."

"Here!"

"Roberts."

"Here!"

"Ross."

"Here!"

"Scott."

"Here!"

"Snow."

There was a pause in the roll-call. People looked around. Mr Quinlan scanned the classroom. "Snow? Taylor Snow?"

I jumped. "Oh! Sorry. Here."

He fixed me with a glance of mild disapproval. _"Do_ try to keep up, Ms Snow. Sturt."

"Here!"

Under cover of the roll-call, the giggling and whispering spread through the classroom. I felt my face heating, and I looked down at my desk. Monday morning, first day back at school, and I hadn't even made it out of home room before making an idiot out of myself.

And the day had been going so well, too.

-ooo-

_Lisa and I reclined at our ease on the stone balcony overlooking the primeval rainforest. The greenery below us extended into the far distance, until it was swallowed by the hazy horizon. Without asking, I somehow knew that it spanned a great world-continent, a Pangea, the treetop canopy unbroken from one shore to the next._

_Growls, shrieks, rumbles and roars sounded from beneath the endless greenery; pterodactyls lazily circled in the cloudless sky, far above._

_Lisa lounged on her deck-chair; her broad-brimmed hat was tilted forward over her eyes, her jacket held more pockets than I had ever seen before in a single item of clothing, and her fringed buckskin pants were tucked into a pair of high-top boots made of an iridescent greenish leather that I did not recognise. A coiled bullwhip hung at her hip, and an efficient-looking shotgun leaned against her chair. _

_She sipped at her drink; I did likewise. It was chilled, and deliciously tart, with just a hint of sweetness. The taste was not familiar to me, but it was very nice._

_"So, first day back at school," she commented._

_There was a scrabbling sound, down toward the base of the tower to which the balcony was appended. I glanced at Lisa; she didn't seem to have noticed._

_**Yeah**__, I agreed, with a marked lack of enthusiasm._

_"Not looking forward to it, huh?"_

_I snorted. __**Well, would **_**you**_** be?**_

_She nodded. "Fair point. But we have the plan to follow. The world to save. All that stuff."_

_**Oh, I'll do it. Just don't expect me to enjoy every second of it.**_

_The scrabbling was a lot closer. Lisa picked up the shotgun._

_"Hey, if saving the world was meant to be easy -"_

_**Yeah, yeah, anyone could do it.**_

_"Precisely." The scrabbling was directly under the balcony now. Coolly and professionally, Lisa racked the slide on the shotgun, chambering a round. _

_**I'm not going to argue about going,**__ I began. __**I just -**_

_Abruptly, there was a triumphant screech as a large velociraptor leaped up on to the edge of the balcony, balancing precariously on the mossy stonework, its large toe-claw flexing rhythmically as if already disembowelling its prey. I just had time to register its iridescent green skin, and the feathers growing along its arms and spine, before Lisa almost negligently aimed the shotgun and fired. There was a stab of flame from the barrel of the gun, and the 'raptor was punched back off the balcony. It fell, twisting and writhing, a despairing screech wrenched from its jaws._

_**Holy shit,**__ I muttered. __**Does that happen often, here?**_

_Lisa worked the slide again; an empty shell popped out, skittering across the stone floor of the balcony, acrid smoke drifting from its interior. Another was chambered in its place._

"_Often enough," she told me with a grin. "I use beanbag rounds so I don't discourage 'em too hard."_

_**Beanbag?**_

_She nodded. "Gel rounds. They hit like a freight train, but they're non-lethal."_

_**Non-lethal? **__ I exclaimed. __**The fall alone will kill it from this height.**_

"_Eh, he's got feathers. Maybe he'll evolve the ability to fly before he hits the ground."_

_**Evolution doesn't work that way, and you know it. **__I tried to put on a severe tone, but it was spoiled by my grin._

_Lisa's voice was totally lacking in concern. "Huh. My bad." She brought the shotgun to bear again, as more scrabbling sounded from below. "Want a shotgun? I have another one around here somewhere."_

_My voice was regretful. __**Sorry. You know I'd love to, but I think I have to wake up soon.**_

"_Darn." Lisa's voice was without heat. "You'll be missing the extreme hang-gliding later on, then."_

_I couldn't help myself. __**'Extreme' hang-gliding?**_

_She nodded and grinned, even as the next 'raptor to show its face got a mouthful of beanbag round for its trouble. "Yeah. It involves pterodactyls."_

_**Ah. I should have known.**_

_Lisa racked the slide and blasted another encroaching velociraptor from the balcony rail, then leaned in toward me. "Kiss before you go?"_

_I kissed her; her lips tasted of dust and blood. Her gun went off, dazzling me. I blinked_ ...

-ooo-

… and I was awake.

_Extreme hang-gliding,_ I mused to myself as I rolled out of bed and put my feet on the floor. _I hope she has fun. I wonder what part of my subconscious she dug __**that**__ scenario up out of._

I dressed quietly, and crept down the stairs; once again, Danny was waiting, just lacing his shoes.

"Morning," he whispered, looking up.

"Morning, slowpoke," I replied with a grin, just as quietly.

He snorted softly. "Watch it, you," he retorted, but he returned the grin.

We let ourselves out the back door and set off. Danny was beginning to learn how to pace himself, but it would be a while before he acquired the stamina to keep up a steady pace over a long distance. We jogged and walked in turn, to let him get his breath back, so we did cover more of my chosen route, but still nowhere near what I would have liked to have done.

All the same, by the time we got back home, he was still panting heavily, and sweating profusely. I was breathing hard, and my underarms were damp, but that was about it. He gave me a disgusted look as we let ourselves in by the side gate,

"I don't believe it," he wheezed. "If I ran another step, I'd fall over. _You_ look like you could do it all again."

"You'll get there," I assured him. "I doubt I'm naturally this fit, really. I must have worked hard to get this far." Which was all true; I had been doing this for a good five or six months.

"If I don't have a heart attack and die first," he retorted, but there was a grin on his face.

We climbed up the back steps and entered the kitchen. The delicious aromas told me that Dot was cooking breakfast before I ever saw her.

"Good morning, dears," she greeted us amiably. "Goodness, Taylor, what have you been doing to poor Danny? He looks as though he's dead on his feet."

"He's actually doing a lot better than he was, two days ago," I assured her.

She looked askance at him as he stumbled through the kitchen, en route to the stairs. "I just hope it doesn't affect his performance at work."

I grinned at her. "He'll be fine. A hot shower and a good meal, and he'll be a new man."

"I suppose." Her gaze turned to me. "Though I'm not at all sure that doing all this running is a fit hobby for a young lady such as yourself."

I kept my expression neutral, and merely shrugged slightly. "It feels like something I've been doing for a while, and Ms Veder did say that if I continued doing it, it might help bring back memories of my past."

It was the mention of Nina that did it. "Well, she _is_ a very bright young lady, and rather respected in her field. I suppose I shall have to bow to her superior wisdom."

I smiled, and gave her a quick hug. "And I'm not sure if I've thanked you for signing up as my guardian. So thank you for that, and for taking me in."

She blushed a faint pink with pleasure. "I could do nothing else; it was my Christian duty. And even though you're not my daughter, it almost feels as though you are, sometimes."

_Close, Grandmother, close, _I thought, and set about assisting Dot with the breakfast things until the shower was free.

-ooo-

Principal Woodbine rose from behind his desk, carefully putting out his cigar in the ashtray. The acrid stink of it lingered in the office, but as he had been polite enough to put it out, there wasn't much we could say.

"Welcome to Winslow High, Ms Snow," he congratulated me, shaking my hand. He was a big man, and strong; I could tell he was being careful with the handshake, and thus my fingers were only bruised, not crushed, when I got my hand back.

"Thank you, Mr Woodbine," I replied; he beamed at me.

"The paperwork is all in order?" he asked Nina.

"Yes," she agreed. "Taylor's legal guardianship is split between myself and Dorothy Hebert."

"Ah, Danny's mother," he noted. "A fine woman. Very Christian. I can see no problem with that."

He walked us out of the office. "I took the liberty of assigning you a locker; it's just down this way."

I had a horrible presentiment that I was going to have to use the very same locker in which I had-been/would-be imprisoned, seven months ago … or twenty-one years in the future, whichever was more accurate. But this was not to be; to my relief, he indicated one quite a ways down the corridor. Inserting a key into the centre of the lock, he turned it, then told me to set my combination. I did so, choosing my father's birth date. Removing the key, he had me open the locker to make sure I'd gotten it right. The locker opened smoothly enough.

"Excellent," he told me, as I stored my books in the locker. I was glad to get rid of the weight off my arms. "I'll introduce you to your home room teacher, then you'll be on your own."

-ooo-

I blinked a couple of times when I first met my home room teacher. I _knew_ him; or at least, I _would_ know him.

"Taylor Snow, this is Mr Quinlan," Woodbine introduced us. "Quinlan, Taylor is joining the school today from out of town. She may need catching-up in a few subjects, but I'm told she's quite smart."

Mr Quinlan looked at me, and I at him. When I had known him, he had of course been twenty-two years older, much heavier, and in the final stages of what I presumed to be alcoholic depression. He had the habit, then, of leaving us to work on our own over the last fifteen minutes of a class period. Somehow, I didn't think he had that habit yet.

"Good morning, sir," I greeted him politely, holding out my hand. "I'm pleased to meet you."

He shook it briefly. "It's a little irregular, to bring a new student in after the year has started, isn't it?"

As the question was directed at Woodbine, not me, I kept quiet.

"As I said, she's been transferred in from out of town," Woodbine told him. "I'll tell you more about it over lunch. It's an interesting tale."

"I'm sure it is," Quinlan replied. "How are your math skills, young lady?"

"I'm good up to algebra and basic quadratics," I responded promptly. "After that, I need a little help."

"Hm." He eyed me speculatively. "Well, we'll see how you go. If you find yourself struggling, let me know."

"I will," I assured him. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't thank me until you need help," he advised me. "Until then, do your best."

Turning, he re-entered his classroom. I looked at Nina, then at Principal Woodbine.

"Uh, did I say something wrong?" I asked.

Woodbine smiled benignly and shook his head. "No, he's like that with everyone. He's a very good math teacher, though. He means nothing by it."

He looked up as the bell rang. "Well, you'd better get in there and find a seat. Good luck, Ms Snow."

I looked at Nina as he walked away. "Well, here goes nothing."

She gave me a brief hug. "Have fun at school, kiddo."

_Kiddo._ It was what Dad used to call me. I felt a sudden wave of nostalgia. "Thanks, Nina. Have fun at work."

"I always do." Giving me a grin and a wink, she strolled away.

I sighed and entered the classroom. _Back to school. Yay._

-ooo-

Mr Quinlan wordlessly pointed me at a desk down toward the back of the room, then went on organising his lesson plan. He seemed quiet, intense, a little driven. Not the type to pass the time exchanging pleasantries with his students. _At least he's not another Gladly._

I'd had my problems with Mr Gladly; not because he gave me problems, but because he didn't see the problems others gave me. Gladly had been too interested in being the popular teacher, too caught up with being friendly with the popular students. Mr Quinlan, here and now, seemed to be veering in the other direction. He didn't want to be anyone's friend; he just wanted to teach. Which was just fine with me.

As my fellow students filed into the classroom, I got a lot of curious looks. Quinlan didn't elaborate on who I was, which he would have had to do several times over anyway; he just ignored the students and kept doing what he was doing.

A girl with long blonde hair and a skinny frame sat down next to me. "Hi!" she whispered. "Gladys Harvey. Who are you?"

"Taylor Snow," I responded automatically, in the same low tone of voice. "I'm new."

She grinned. "Yeah, I know. I usually stash my extra books in that desk."

She seemed oddly familiar to me, but I couldn't place her. "So what's your first class?"

"Math. Yours?"

"Same. I'm probably going to get tested to see where I am. Yay tests."

She chuckled at my grimace. "You'll do fine. Quinlan's a tough teacher but a fair one."

I nodded. "I was beginning to get that -"

Mr Quinlan rapped the desk with a ruler; all the covert whispering fell silent. "As most of you may have noticed, we have a new student among us. You may socialise with her later. Right now, you need to pay attention."

He picked up a folder and began to read out names. "Adams."

A girl across the classroom called out, "Here!"

"Anson."

A boy replied, "Here!"

-ooo-

I sat in the cafeteria at the lunch break, picking at my meal. Gladys sat next to me, with about two pieces of lettuce and an apple on her tray. "Are you okay?"

I looked at the piece of carrot stuck on my fork, and ate it. "Peachy."

"Mr Quinlan isn't really mean," she tried again. "He'll warm up to you."

I snorted. Instead of testing me, it seemed that Mr Quinlan had delighted in making things as hard as possible for me. I'd had an idea of what the class was doing, but instead of giving me a chance to work it out, he had started calling on me immediately. I wished I could put on my headphones and ask Lisa how to work out the problems he had given me, but this was not on the cards. As it was, he had gotten me to stumble through most of a problem on the board, before calling up another student to fix my mistakes and finish the equation.

I had set out to figure out where I'd gone wrong, and I'd just about gotten there, when I was called on again. This problem seemed even harder, but I did my best. I was fairly sure I'd gotten out most of it before he called out another student once more.

"Sure he isn't the swimming coach?" I asked sarcastically. "Because it seemed to me that he was just throwing me in at the deep end."

She laughed out loud. "I think he was just finding out how good you are, and seeing how you work under pressure," she assured me.

I nodded thoughtfully. I had worked with people like that before; maybe I had been a little hard on Mr Quinlan, letting my memories of the man he might one day be cloud my perception of the man he was now.

"Huh," I mused. "I think you might be right. Thanks for that. Sometimes I forget that even if someone's not being nice to me, it doesn't mean that they're not doing something good for me."

She nodded earnestly. "That's true." A sigh. "Of course, then there are the ones who really _aren't_ nice."

I turned my gaze to where she was looking; three girls were making their way across the cafeteria, in a pattern that was all too familiar to me. The leader, the second in charge and the follower. People made way for them; it wasn't as blatant as it would be in the Winslow of my day, but it was definitely there. And I could see the look on Gladys' face as she covertly watched them. I'd felt that expression on my own face, more than once.

"You've gotten on their bad side?"

She nodded toward them. "The tall blonde one is Larissa Green. The brunette is Melanie Caldwell, and the other blonde is Rachel Pritchard." A tiny shrug, a plaintive tone. "I don't know _what_ I've done to offend them."

"Trust me," I assured her, "it doesn't need to be anything at all. Sometimes, you're just the victim of the week." I glanced about. "What do they do? Do the teachers listen if you tell them?"

"Only little things," she assured me. "Pushes, shoves. Sometimes my books are taken. Nothing I can prove, nothing I can point to. Sometimes they'll say mean things about me behind my back. But Larissa is Principal Woodbine's niece, and no-one's quite sure ..."

I nodded. "No-one's quite sure how fair he'll be if it's her on the other side." It was a familiar pattern. Only the playing pieces changed. _Sophia Hess is a Ward; they don't want her to get in trouble._

"Yes," she agreed. "She's always careful to be good around the teachers, you see."

I eyed Larissa; she was tall, almost as tall as me. But while I was all lanky arms and legs, she had curves to spare. _Emma Barnes, all over again._ Only this one wasn't a redhead.

I thought about the sheer unadulterated hell I had been put through, for eighteen months, at the hands of Emma and company. And then I thought about what I had accomplished since. About the person I had become. And I made a decision.

If Larissa and her cronies decided to come after me, then they would learn, very quickly, that this was a very bad choice of action.

I'd had _enough_ of bullies.

-ooo-

I sat in the principal's office, waiting for Nina to arrive. _Well, __**that**__ was fast._

Beside me sat Gladys, looking apprehensive; opposite us were Larissa and Melanie. We did not speak; Principal Woodbine's secretary had a gimlet eye on each of us, and her disapproval was almost palpable.

Eventually, Nina entered the office. She looked at me with an expression of mixed curiosity and disappointment, then moved to the secretary's desk.

"Nina Veder. I'm here to act as legal guardian for Ms Snow."

"Indeed," the secretary replied. "Very well, you may go in."

Nina disappeared through the door; it shut behind her. Some time passed.

The intercom on the secretary's desk buzzed; she picked up her phone. "Yes, sir," she replied, to something that was said to her. She looked at each of us. "You may go in now."

We rose; I stepped forward smartly, in order to prevent Larissa from cutting in front of me. She was slowed up, in any case, by Melanie, who was still limping.

There were six chairs in front of Woodbine's desk; Nina was sitting in one of them. I sat beside her, and Gladys beside me. The other two found their own chairs; Rachel's sat empty.

Principal Woodbine cleared his throat. "I am very disappointed," he began. "Fighting in this school is something which is strongly discouraged. Here at Winslow, we pride ourselves on non-violent solutions to disagreements." He took the time to look at each of us in turn. "Ms Snow, you are new here. Perhaps you consider physical violence to be an acceptable means to settle an argument; let me assure you, it is not."

I was roused to answer. "Sir, I -"

"I had not finished speaking, Ms Snow," he cut me off. "You will have your turn to speak."

I shut up. This was the side of Principal Woodbine that I had not seen before. I had seen the kindly-uncle version; this was the disciplinarian.

"Ms Harvey," he went on. "This is not the first time you have been in this office, sad to say. Other times, it has had to do with minor disruptions in class, and being chronically late with assignments. I hope that this does not mark an escalation in your activities."

Gladys looked miserable. I could read between the lines; the 'disruptions in class' and the late assignments had likely been due to bullying. Much the same had happened to me, once upon a time.

Woodbine took a breath. "Larissa; I don't know what to say. You're a good student, a popular girl. You're my niece, but there is family and then there is discipline. You know the rules; if you are found to have broken them, then there will be punishment, family or no."

Larissa opened her mouth; she was blonde and very pretty, and knew it. "Uncle, I -"

"Be _quiet,"_ he admonished her. Astonished, she closed her mouth again.

He spoke to Melanie Caldwell in much the same vein. Then he turned back to Gladys and myself.

"Ms Snow, I am told that you and Ms Harvey attacked Larissa and her friends, without provocation. If this is true, then I may have to consider suspension; this is a very serious punishment, especially on your first day here." He raised an eyebrow. "I would be interested in hearing your side of it."

I took a deep breath. "In the first place, sir, Gladys didn't attack anyone. She was just there."

Both his eyebrows hitched up now. "Is that so? They say differently."

"They also say I wasn't provoked, sir," I replied evenly. "That's a lie, too."

Larissa shifted, began to speak; without looking, he raised a finger. She quieted.

"Kindly tell me what happened, from your point of view, Ms Snow," he invited.

"Well, we'd just finished lunch," I began.

-ooo-

"So what is there to do after school?" I asked, as Gladys and I strolled along the corridor toward the stairwell. We had just paid a visit to the third floor girls' bathrooms, and I had found them much cleaner and tidier than previously experienced.

"Oh, there's -" she began, then cut off as three girls emerged from the stairwell. Larissa and her two friends.

"Keep walking," I advised her in an undertone. She shot me a frightened glance, but did as I said.

We steered to pass by the three, but they stopped and blocked our way.

"Excuse me," I addressed Larissa, "but we'd like to go downstairs now."

She tried to stare me down; this was difficult, because I was a little taller than her, and I didn't feel like being stared down.

"You know who I am?" she asked.

"Your name is Larissa, and the principal is your uncle," I recited. "Do you know who _I _am?"

"New girl," she replied dismissively. "Can't even remember your own name for roll call."

I took note of that; Rachel did look vaguely familiar. She had obviously been spreading tales.

"The name is Taylor Snow," I told her quietly. "And we still need to get past."

"Not until we've had a word," she responded.

"A word about what?"

"Are you a dyke?"

I blinked, somewhat surprised. "Are you serious?"

She glared at me. "Harvey's a dyke. Are you one too, or didn't you know?"

I laughed in her face. "You have to be kidding. Gladys is no more gay than I am. Than you are."

Her glare turned threatening. "Listen to me, new girl. I say she's a dyke, she's a dyke. And that sort of shit has to be kept down. And if you're a dyke too ..."

I'd heard enough. "Seriously? You're _threatening_ me? Over what you think my sexuality _might_ be? Even if I _was_ gay, would it even matter? Get a fucking life." I went to push past her. "Come on, Gladys, let's get out of here."

Larissa grabbed my arm, arresting my forward motion. Without even thinking, I grabbed her little finger and bent it back, pulling her hand off me. She cried out; I bent the finger back a little farther, and leaned into her space. "You don't touch me. And you leave Gladys alone."

"Hey!" shouted Melanie, and swung a slap at me.

Without letting go of Larissa's hand, I blocked the slap and kicked Melanie under the kneecap. Brutal, yes, but it was how Brian had trained me, and how I had gone on since then. Hit them hard, hit them fast, and escalate before they can. She screamed and fell over backward, clutching her leg.

Rachel Pritchard grabbed me around the arms, or tried to. They were woefully under-equipped for any sort of brawl; I stamped on her foot, elbowed her in the ribs, then pulled free. I was wearing running shoes, while she had open-toed sandals. In the process, I had to let Larissa go, but she wasn't being aggressive, so it didn't really matter.

Turning, I lifted my leg and slammed my knee into Rachel's stomach; I could have pulled her head down and kneed her in the face, but I figured that the stomach worked well enough. It did; she fell to her knees and started puking.

I took a step toward Larissa; she backed up, cradling her hand. "Keep away from me!" she shouted. "Keep away!"

I rolled my eyes. "Took you long enough to get the message," I told her. Turning away from her, I looked at Gladys. "Sorry you had to see that," I began, then realised that her look of horror was not directed at me. It was directed at the teacher who had just come up the stairwell.

"What," enquired the teacher acidly, "is the meaning of this?"

"She started it!" screamed Larissa, pointing at me. "She started it!"

-ooo-

" … and that's about it," I concluded.

Principal Woodbine steepled his fingers and gazed at me over them. Then he switched to Gladys.

"Ms Harvey, do you concur with what Ms Snow has just said?" he asked.

"Um, basically," she agreed. "She didn't do anything until Larissa grabbed her arm. She was just defending me."

"Thank you, Ms Harvey," he replied.

He turned to Larissa and Melanie. "I've already heard your side of it, and to be honest, it sounds much more fanciful than what Ms Snow has just told me."

Larissa's blue eyes opened wide. "But, Uncle Paul -"

"That's _enough,_ young lady," he snapped. "If you address me in this office, you address me as 'Principal Woodbine', or 'Mr Woodbine'. At school, I am not your uncle. Do you understand me?"

She wilted under his glare.

"I said, _do you understand me?"_

Faintly, she nodded. "Yes, Un – I mean, Principal Woodbine."

"Good. Larissa, get back to class. Melanie, go to the nurse and get that knee strapped. Tell the nurse that if Rachel's stopped throwing up, she can go back to class too."

The girls fled, Melanie still limping. Principal Woodbine turned to Gladys. "Ms Harvey, I am given to understand that this is not an isolated incident."

"I, uh, no, sir," she managed.

He frowned. "Well, now that they know my stance on the matter, that should be an end to it."

"Uh, thank you, sir."

He gestured. "Go on, back to class."

She got up and left, not without a grateful glance in my direction.

Woodbine sighed and leaned back in his chair. Nina and I waited.

"Ms Snow, you present a problem to me," he said at last.

"A problem?" I asked. "Uh, sir."

He sat forward. "Yes, a problem. I consider myself to be a reasonably good judge of character. This incident has all the hallmarks of a bullying attempt gone sadly wrong; as Ms Harvey takes your side in it, and she's not one of the popular girls, I have to presume that you and she were the butt of it. But you turned the tables on them, and rather neatly too."

I sat silent, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"You strike me as someone who doesn't start problems, but when they arise, you deal with them as efficiently and effectively as possible. Aggressively, even."

He seemed to be waiting for a response. "I … suppose so, sir," I replied neutrally.

A dry smile crossed his face. "I would do more than suppose so. But therein lies the problem with which I am faced. You have obviously learned to face up to your problems in an aggressive fashion. I'm thinking that maybe you need a more productive outlet for that aggression."

"I'm not really one for sports, sir -" I began.

He shook his head. "I wasn't talking about sports."

"Then what _are_ you talking about?" asked Nina.

"Tell me," Woodbine asked, addressing me directly. "Have you ever heard of the Junior Reserve Officers' Training Corps?"

End of Part 1-8


	10. Chapter 10

**/o\**

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 1-9: Ongoing Affairs

* * *

**Later That Day**

Dorothy Hebert stared at me. "Taylor, am I hearing this correctly? You _beat up_ a girl at school?"

"No, Mom," Danny interjected, barely able to hold back a grin. _"_She beat up _three_ girls." Oddly, despite being a relatively pacifistic person, he seemed strangely proud of me.

George regarded me, greying eyebrows drawn down; I could not tell whether he was frowning in puzzlement or disapproval. But he did not speak.

"That's even worse," Dot reproved her son. "Fighting of any sort is bad." She turned back to me. "I am very disappointed in you. A lady never raises her hand to another person."

_As if you could call me a lady, _I thought with dark amusement.

"Wait a minute," Nina put in. "You haven't heard the whole story yet."

"I'm not sure if I want to hear any more," Dot replied with a shudder.

"But I was defending another girl," I burst out. "They were picking on her, and they wouldn't leave her alone."

"So you should have left," Dot retorted. "Walked away. Been the bigger person."

"I _tried,"_ I insisted. "One of them grabbed my arm and stopped me."

Dot's curiosity overcame her. "So what did you do? I suppose you punched her."

I shook my head. "No. I twisted her little finger until she let go. So then her friend tried to slap me."

"Did you punch _her,_ then?" asked Dorothy.

"I didn't punch _anyone._ I blocked her slap, and kicked her in the leg." Wisely, I decided not to tell Dot that I had aimed specifically to kick her under the kneecap; far more painful and disabling than a simple kick in the shin. "She decided not to try to slap me again. But the last girl grabbed me around the arms then."

"So what did you do?" asked Danny, his face alight with the excitement of the narrative.

"Danny!" scolded Dorothy. She paused, and turned to me. "What _did_ you do?"

I took a deep breath. "I, uh, elbowed her in the ribs and stamped on her foot to make her let me go. And then … I guess I kneed her in the stomach a little bit." _And then she threw up everywhere. But I'm not going to mention that._

Dot shook her head sadly. "That was far too violent, Taylor. Nothing can excuse that sort of behaviour."

"Mom, the girl was trying to hold Taylor so her friends could beat her up," protested Danny.

"Also, there was how they were picking on Gladys," I told her. "It was really mean."

"What were they doing?" she asked.

"They were trying to tell me that she was gay, and that I shouldn't be her friend."

Her eyes narrowed. "And is she? That way, I mean?"

I shook my head. "No, she's just an ordinary girl. She told me about this boy she's interested in."

"And they were spreading tales about her?" Dot persisted.

I nodded. "Not just jokes. They were serious about it."

I didn't tell her, of course, that I wouldn't have cared if Gladys was gay. It simply wasn't a factor.

Dorothy compressed her lips. "Fighting is bad, but you were defending another person who was being sinned against, and you only fought to defend yourself." She heaved a sigh. "I understand that you did not feel as though you had much choice, but try not to let it happen again."

"Uh ..." began Nina.

"What?" asked Dot.

"The principal suggested, and I concurred, that she be enrolled in the Junior ROTC. This will channel and make the best use of her aggressive instincts."

"Military training?" frowned Dorothy. "I don't know ..."

"Uh, not military training as such," I interjected. "Just … showing us how they do things in the military. But it does mean that once I go on to college, I can walk straight into the ROTC program, if I so choose."

"But I thought you were going into a career with computers," Dot protested. "Not the military."

"Mom, the military isn't all shooting things and blowing them up," Danny put in. "By the time Taylor graduates, they'll have computers there too."

"Believe me," I agreed, "I don't intend to go far away from computers."

Dorothy's expression was dubious. She was no doubt trying to imagine the bulky, cantankerous machines in the Port Authority as part of a military endeavour, and failing.

"Not everyone in uniform has to be out there with a gun," I explained. "The military has doctors and priests and clerks, too."

"But surely it's safer _not_ being in the military? All those guns and bombs?"

I spread my hands. "Well, it's not like I have my heart set on being in the Army or Navy." And I was even telling the truth. "It's just another option for a career, is all." I half-grinned. "And more people die in traffic accidents every year than in the military."

"That can't be true," Dorothy averred, but her tone was unsure.

"The girl's right," George put in gruffly. "Forty thousand people die on the roads every year. Far less than that in the military."

Dorothy and I both turned to stare at him.

He frowned. "What? I have to be aware of accident statistics."

"Dear, you're not really taking her side in this, are you?" she asked.

George frowned. "I can't say I totally agree with girls fighting. But it sounds to me like she didn't have much of a choice. And if she's going to be fighting, then it's a good idea if she does it right."

He stood up from the armchair in which he had been residing through the majority of the discussion. "Give me your arm, girl."

Dumbly, I offered him my right arm. He took it, felt the muscle, inspected my knuckles. "Hm," he growled. "You done much fighting?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. It seemed to come fairly naturally."

A nod. "Maybe so. Make a fist."

I clenched my fist. He felt it, squeezing it with his large hand. "Well, you know how to do that, at least. But you haven't done much bare-knuckle work." Holding up his own hand, he clenched it into a fist that looked to be about the size of my head; as he tensed the muscles, I could see white scars showing up clearly across the knuckles.

"I didn't punch anyone today," I pointed out.

"No, you didn't," he agreed. "You used other hard points on your body. Knee, elbow, foot. All useful. Someone gave you some basic training, I'd wager. Nothing fancy, nothing classical. But you know how to handle yourself, at least against other schoolgirls." He gave me an approving nod. "That's a fair basis to be starting from, when they're teaching you hand to hand."

"Dear, you're not saying you _support_ this idea of her doing this?" expostulated his wife.

George shrugged massively. "Why not? Give her discipline, let her learn a real trade. Some of my best men were in the Navy, once upon a time." He held up his open palm. "Let's see how you hit."

I took a deep breath, rolled my shoulders. Balanced on the balls of my feet, as Brian had shown me, once upon a time. Held my arms loosely in front of me, where I could cover my body. Then I fired a punch, as hard as I could, using my left hand, from the shoulder. It smacked into George's hand, with a meaty sound. I followed it up with a straight right, equally hard. Each time, I put my weight behind it, aimed at a point some six inches behind his hand.

Danny's jaw slowly dropped open as I stood back, relaxing, adopting a non-threatening posture.

George nodded slowly. "You don't hit badly, for a girl," he allowed. "Harder'n Danny there, I'll wager. You know how to cover up, too; that's good. Grow up a bit, fill out some, you could be a real scrapper. And you're fast. Plus, you know some dirty tricks, which is good too. A good dirty fighter'll beat out a good clean fighter any day of the week, all else being equal."

"_George!"_ Dot protested again.

He turned to her. "What do you want me to say, Dottie? The girl's willing to stand up for herself, she can throw a punch, and she keeps a cool head. I can respect that. Wherever she comes from, she's not had it easy. So why not let her do this?"

I was just a little surprised myself. Ever since I had entered the Hebert home, George had been the brooding Olympian presence across the table, or in the armchair in the corner of the living room, often disapproving, never outwardly friendly. And now, because I had not only gotten into a fight, but also acquitted myself well, he was showing favour toward me. Not for the first time, I reflected that life in the past was bizarre.

"Dorothy, really, she isn't joining the military immediately," Nina pointed out. "Joining the JROTC simply replaces her physical education periods with training from military instructors, and sometimes she may go on field trips and exercises." She shrugged. "She may well dislike it intensely."

"Well, I suppose, if you put it that way … " Dot temporised. "I suppose it isn't as bad as I had first thought."

I stayed quiet; I had seen the JROTC curriculum, and I intended to make full use of it. But I doubted that Dorothy would be overly pleased at the idea of some of the things on it. Going over to her, I gave her a hug. "Thanks, Dot," I told her sincerely. "This feels right. I really think I need it."

"That's all right, dear," she told me, patting me on the back. "I'm sure it will all turn out all right in the end. Give me a hand with dinner?"

I smiled at her. "I'd love to."

And for the rest of the evening, I was as demure and ladylike as possible. George wasn't fooled; I swear I saw his eyes twinkle once or twice. But he said nothing.

* * *

"Wow, I wish you could tell me where you learned how to do that," Danny enthused.

We were sitting on the back porch, after dinner. I had helped Dot with clearing the dishes and washing up, and she was now watching TV in the living room with Nina and George.

"I wish I could too," I told him honestly. _Though you might not be thrilled at the idea of Brian and me, after he became my boyfriend, for all of one month._

"You're a real mystery girl," he mused. "Think of the secrets locked in your memories. Where you've been. What you've done. How you learned to do that."

* * *

It hurt me more than I was willing to admit, even to myself, that I could not in all conscience reveal the truth to him. If I told him even a small part of the real story, then more and more would have to be told, or lies made up to cover what I could not tell him. Where I was from; or rather, _when_ I was from. How I ended up in the ocean off Brockton Bay, in 1989, from 2011. What events had led to my being sent back. What I had done, much of which I was not proud of, before the catastrophic battle with Behemoth.

It was more than a can of worms; it was a cage of deadly vipers. Merely opening it could cause serious problems all around. Better it stayed closed, no matter how much it pained me to lie to my own father-to-be.

* * *

"It's a mystery, all right," I agreed lightly. "But now you know that when I say I'll beat you up, I'm not just kidding." He could see by my grin that I was joking.

"You're a mean, mean woman," he accused me. "Threatening me with physical violence. I'll tell Mom and Dad on you."

I gave him an innocent look, and batted my eyelashes. "Who do you think they would believe?"

"Mean _and_ unfair." He crossed his arms and pretended to sulk.

"Poor Danny," I giggled. "I'll protect you from all the other mean girls."

We both laughed so hard that when Nina came out to see what was going on, it took me three tries to explain the joke to her.

* * *

I was pleasantly surprised, when I attended my first JROTC class, to find Gladys Harvey had also joined.

"What are you doing here?" I asked her in an undertone, during a lull in the proceedings.

"Hey, you join, I join," she told me. "My parents don't mind; my dad thinks it might toughen me up."

"Cool," I told her. "We can team up, do things together."

At that moment, we discovered an interesting fact; specifically, that the instructor for the Winslow High School JROTC had rather good hearing.

I had indeed been correct in predicting that Gladys and I would do things together.

It turned out that the first thing we were going to do together was push-ups; quite a lot of them.

After that, we paid more attention in class.

* * *

**March, 1990**

"_Come in, Joe. Take a seat." Principal Woodbine pulled a bottle of best bonded bourbon from his desk drawer. "Care for a snort?"_

"_Don't mind if I do, Paul. I do not mind in the slightest."_

_Woodbine pulled out his cigar case, and offered it to his guest. They both lit up, and soon large clouds of smoke were hanging over each man. Leaning back comfortably, they sipped the liquor and puffed out more clouds of smoke._

_Woodbine was the first to break the silence. "So, how's this year's course going?"_

_Former Sergeant Joseph Campbell, now the Winslow JROTC chief instructor, considered his answer as he puffed on his cigar. Fragrant smoke trickled out of his nostrils as he made his reply._

"_They're a bunch of good kids. Some of them are just in it for kicks, but there are some that are real dedicated. The type I would have given my right arm for, back in the day."_

"_How about the Snow girl?" pressed Woodbine. He had nearly made a bad error of judgement, back when she had first joined Winslow, and the memory of it still haunted him._

_Campbell chuckled. "Oh god. Her and that friend of hers, Harvey. What they **haven't** gotten up to."_

_Woodbine frowned. "Clowns? Screw-ups?"_

_Joe shook his head. "No. Just the opposite. They pay attention in class. It's almost scary, how much the Snow kid takes in, and Harvey's right there doing her best as well."_

"_And in the field?"_

"_Ah, there's the rub," Joe pontificated. "In the field, they're downright terrifying."_

_Woodbine raised an eyebrow. "Terrifying."_

_Joe shook his head. "Remember back when you were a green-as-grass second looey and I was your sergeant, back in the 'Nam? How there were some boys that were scared of every leaf-rustle and creak, and some that were just at home in the jungle?"_

_Woodbine nodded. He had an idea where this was going. "Yeah … "_

"_Well, the second type, that's these two. I set up exercises, just play-fights really, between teams. Capture the flag, tag out the other team, whatever. And whatever team Snow's in, wins. Well, except for the first time. She followed this one idiot's orders then, and they lost. Since then, if she's not put in charge, she simply assumes command, and then pulls some bullshit tactic out of her ass, and leaves the other side wondering what the hell happened." He took a drink. "Half the time, she leaves **me** wondering what happened."_

_Both of Woodbine's eyebrows rose, this time, but his voice remained level. "Really. Every time."_

"_I shit you not. Every goddamn time. I've whittled their team down until it was just those two against everyone else, and they **still **won."_

"_So is it Harvey as well, or just Snow?"_

"_Harvey's got a brain in her head, but it's Snow that pulls the rabbit out of the hat every time. Snow's a leader; Harvey's a follower, but a good one. Understands the plans, runs with them, backs her up to the hilt every time."_

_Woodbine frowned. "Uh, you don't think they're, uh … "_

_Joe shook his head definitively. "Nope. Snow's not interested in anyone, and Harvey's got this boyfriend she talks about all the time."_

"_Okay, then," agreed Woodbine, pouring himself some more bourbon. "How's the other training going?"_

_Joe held out his glass. "Thanks. Yeah, that's going pretty well too."_

* * *

"Take aim."

I snuggled the rifle butt into my shoulder, and squinted down the sights. The frame of my glasses was pushed sideways slightly, but I couldn't help that.

"Fire."

Adjusting aim just a touch, I squeezed the trigger. The .22 rifle jolted back against my shoulder, as my ears were assaulted by the flat _crack_ of the rifle going off. Alongside me, Gladys had fired a split second earlier.

"Snow, you're two inches up, and three to the left," reported the instructor behind us, binoculars to his eyes. "Harvey, you're half an inch down and two to the right. Reload and take aim again."

I worked the bolt, ejecting the shiny brass cartridge-case and making a mental note where it fell, because I knew I would be responsible for policing it afterward. Slamming the bolt forward pushed another round into the chamber, and I carefully took aim once more, as instructed.

Gladys was better at this than I was; I worked assiduously at it, but it seemed that she simply had the better talent for it. She was also filling out well with the exercise; in nearly six months, she had put on serious muscle. I had also bulked up a little, but nothing compared to how she had done.

Where I starred was in field exercises, and in handling people in general. Gladys would help me smuggle the tape deck out into the field, and would cover me while I snatched five or ten minutes to confer with Lisa. That would give me a good basic strategy to work with, upon which I could usually add flourishes of my own.

She had been surprised and puzzled, the first time I chose to listen to music before the exercise started, but after our first victory, she wasn't about to argue. Between us, we had proven to be quite a team, and I was determined to maintain my precarious run of victories. I knew quite well that Sergeant Campbell was going to test me just as hard as he could, but then, I hadn't signed up for JROTC because of the easy life.

"Fire."

I squeezed the trigger; both rifles spoke at the same time. Beside me, Gladys emitted a tiny _yip_ of victory, and I knew she'd nailed a perfect bullseye.

"Snow, you're over-correcting; an inch down and to the right. Harvey, put your next shot right there. Reload and take aim."

I did as I was told, let my sights drift up and left a fraction.

Shooting was one thing Lisa's tutoring couldn't help me with, and I was proud of how well I was doing at it. Gladys and I were the best shots in the class, and while I had no doubt that she would win the end-of-year shooting trophy, I was bound and determined to get second place, or maybe third.

It was all a matter of keeping at it till I got it right.

* * *

**Spring Break, 1991**

"So who are you going to the senior prom with?" asked Gladys idly.

I leaned against my end of the bus shelter. "Dunno. Do I need to have a partner?"

"It _is_ kind of expected," she reminded me.

I shrugged. "I don't know that many guys that well."

"One of the guys from JROTC?" she suggested.

I snorted. "They either want to know how I do it, or are determined to beat me, or both. There's no-one there that's just a friend." I looked at her. "How about you?"

"What?" She looked startled. "Are you asking _me_ to be your partner?"

"No, no, god no!" We both burst out laughing at the same time. "I was asking if you had a partner."

She ducked her head and blushed. "Frank's asked me."

"And you said yes?"

She nodded vigorously, still blushing. "Shouldn't I have?"

I smiled at her. "Of _course_ you should have. Good for you."

When she had first met Franklin Knott, they had been so adorably shy together that it had taken him six weeks to get up the nerve to ask her out. She had asked me what she should say. By that time, I had been fairly certain that she was indeed the woman I would know as Mrs Knott, twenty-two years later. So I had given her very strong encouragement.

Their budding relationship had gone well; he was obviously smitten by her, and she thought he was the most handsome man on earth. But they both broke out in a severe case of shyness whenever they were in the same room, so quite often I had had to be the go-between.

The fact that he had asked her to the senior prom himself, I took as a good sign; the fact that she had accepted on her own, an even better one. Maybe they could start taking matters into their own hands now, and I could stand back and let them be.

"So," she persisted, "who are you going with?"

I frowned. "You're much more assertive than when first I met you. I blame myself."

She grinned at me. "It _is_ your fault for getting me into JROTC." She pronounced it 'jay-rot-see', as I did.

"Got you into it, my ass. You joined of your own free will."

"When you kicked Larissa's ass, I wanted to see how you did it. Do you blame me?"

I shrugged. "I guess not. Do I _have_ to take someone?"

"You could always ask Danny."

* * *

Gladys had spent a lot of time at the Hebert house, and got along well with both Dot and George. She had formed an immediate friendship with Danny, and had even had a bit of a crush on him in the days before she met Frank Knott. As it was, she occasionally wondered out loud why I did not snap him up before someone else got him.

I couldn't tell her the truth, of course; I merely shrugged and told her that he wasn't someone I was really interested in.

Now, her suggestion came out of the blue and caught me unawares.

* * *

"I can't," I blurted. "He's my -"

Almost, I said "father", but managed to change it in the last second to "brother, well, sort of".

She shook her head. "Not legally, he's not."

"I just feel that way, okay?" I told her.

She threw up her hands. "Well, fine. You don't have to make out with him. Just bring him along to dance with. Or can't you even do that?"

I sighed. "Okay, fine. I'll ask him. Just to dance with."

She grinned at me. "Excellent. If you didn't bring a partner, I wasn't going to bring one either. And I really did want to bring Frank along."

I stared at her. "Wow, Gladys. Way to guilt me."

She positively smirked. "What are friends for?"

* * *

"Wait, what?" asked Danny. "You want _me_ to be your date for the senior prom?"

"Shh," I warned him. "Not so loud." I turned my head to glance through the back door, but no-one had apparently heard.

He stared at me. "But I thought that I – that you -"

"All that's still true," I assured him hastily. "We're still just friends. Nothing's changed there. I just need a date, otherwise Gladys is going to go alone, to show solidarity."

"Ah," he replied, comprehending. "Franklin." He had met Gladys' boyfriend a few times, and they got along fairly well. He didn't quite share the proprietary interest that I had in making sure that they formed a lasting relationship, but he understood that it was important to me for some reason. And so, when I had gone to him for advice on how a guy thinks, he had cheerfully given it.

"And I couldn't take that sort of guilt, not after he actually got around to asking her, and she accepted, all by themselves," I confessed. "So; can you do this?"

He shrugged. "Sure," he replied. "What are friends for?"

_I wish people would stop asking me that question._

* * *

**Saturday, May 25, 1991**

**Senior Prom, Winslow High School**

Danny and I circled the dance floor; I had grown a bit over the previous eighteen months, but he was still taller than me. He was dressed in black tie and tails; I had on a matching black dress.

"I really expected your parents to make more of a fuss when you told them you were my date for the senior prom," I commented. I was glad that they hadn't, but I wanted to sound him out on the topic, in case there was something I had missed.

"Well, Mom still thinks that you and I would make the perfect couple, and I think Dad's warming up to the idea," he informed me mischievously.

I pressed the heels of my hand to my forehead, and tried not to growl. "Danny, I don't _need_ this. After graduation, I'll be moving out. Sorry."

"What?" His expression was that of a kicked puppy. "I didn't mean anything by it, really. I was just making a joke."

"I know, I know," I told him. "But … I was always going to move out, sooner or later. I was originally going to stay there while I went to college, but … not any more."

"What's the problem?" he asked. "Is it me? Is it Dad? We can work it out, whatever it is."

I hated to see him like this, but my mind was made up. "Sorry, Danny. Your mom's a dear, and I'm starting to get a line on your dad, and you've been really good about not pressuring me. But I'm starting to get that pressure from them now, to be with you. You were joking, but I'm not."

"I can talk to them -"

I cut him off. "It won't do any good. They're your _parents_. That means they'll do what they think is best, no matter what you tell them."

"And you still can't tell me why -"

I shook my head. "Not for a long time, if ever," I told him. "Sorry."

We passed by Gladys and Franklin; she shot me a beaming smile, then made a quick gesture indicating drinking. I nodded.

"Let's get off the floor for a while," I told Danny. "I'm starting to get a headache. I think I need some punch and a breath of fresh air."

"Sure thing," he agreed readily, and we made our way to the edge of the dance floor. Gladys met us there, with Franklin in tow; she was flushed with happiness, while he looked as though he couldn't believe his luck.

"Isn't this _great?"_ she enthused. "I can't believe we finally made it to the end of the year."

I watched as Danny ladled punch into cups for us. "Yeah," I agreed. "It's awesome."

* * *

It wasn't the high school prom that I had envisaged for myself; in fact, I hadn't really envisaged one at all, back in 2011. I had been too miserable, too wrapped up in the hell engineered by the Trio. Even if I hadn't gotten powers, I most likely would have stopped going to school around Spring Break, and never gone back.

Or done something worse to myself.

I didn't want to think about that, now.

* * *

Gratefully, I accepted the plastic cup of punch from Danny, and took a drink. The tart orange flavour, with overtones of several different types of soda, slid down my throat, refreshing me with its coolness.

A kid I didn't know offhand, one of the year elevens that was attending the dance, came up to me. "Taylor Snow?" he asked.

"Yeah, that's me," I agreed. "What's up?"

"I just got told to tell you. There's someone outside who wants to see you."

"Who is it, and why?" I asked.

"Dunno," he responded. "I just got told to fetch you."

Turning, he disappeared into the crowd. Danny looked after him, then shrugged. "Okay, so shall we go see what this is about?"

I frowned. "Just a second."

Being told that 'someone wants to see you' is one of the oldest traps in the book. The lack of details simply made it all the more suspicious.

Of course, whoever set it also probably knew that I didn't back down from challenges of this sort. Which made it bait, in a way.

I reached into my handbag, which was a little larger than the average. That was because, as well as the standard makeup and change purse, it also held my precious tape deck, and some other items which never left my side, even at a high school dance.

After all, one never knew when one needed such things.

Such as right at this moment.

* * *

The kid was waiting just inside the doors leading to the outside.

"Just out here," he told us, and pushed his way out.

We followed; I felt the chill night air strike me from all angles, and reach down into my lungs. It tasted even better than the punch. Danny stepped up beside me, and Gladys and Franklin flanked me on the other side.

"Problem, you think?" murmured Gladys to me. I was glad to see that she held her high-heeled shoes in her hands, walking cat-footed in her stocking feet. I myself wore flats; I was quite tall enough as it was, without positively towering over all the other girls there.

"Wouldn't be surprised," I replied, in a low tone. "Keep an eye out."

"Around this way," piped up the kid, leading us toward a gap between two of the caterers' vans.

Danny frowned. "This doesn't look right."

"What do you mean?" asked Franklin; he wasn't quite as fast on the uptake.

"It's not," I agreed with Danny.

We stepped through the gap; the kid was nowhere to be seen. He'd probably ducked into the shadows somewhere. But that didn't mean we were alone.

"Well, hi," a familiar voice purred, and Larissa Green stepped into the light. "Fancy meeting you here."

Flanking her were her two cronies, as well as several other girls that I did not recognise. They did not, in fact, look as though they came from Winslow.

Gravel crunched behind me, and I pushed Danny to one side, and ducked to the other. Grabbing hands got the strap of my handbag, but not me; I tried to keep hold of it, but the two guys who came through the gap were stronger than me, and the bag was plucked from my grip.

"So what the fuck is this about, Larissa?" I snapped. "Don't tell me you're still pissed about your finger."

I saw other guys looming in the shadows, so I kept my movements slow, unthreatening. Larissa stepped forward and paraded all the way around me.

"From the first day you walked into Winslow, you've been a thorn in my side, Snow," she informed me. "You made friends with that pathetic little bitch Harvey. You hurt me. You _beat_ me. Uncle Paul took your side. You made me lose to you. I don't lose, Snow. Not ever."

I'd heard this song before, and from someone who would make Larissa tremble in her Gucci high-heeled shoes. She didn't impress me at all. "So what's the deal? Your friends are going to hold me so you can beat me up, and then you'll have won, is that it?"

She sneered. I had to admit, she did a really good sneer. "Not hardly. I've just asked them to … soften you up a bit, first. Make this a fair fight."

I nodded toward the strange girls. "Brought in ringers, did you? How did you get them into the dance?"

One of the guys stepped out of the shadows. "We brought them, as our dates," he informed me.

"Fuck me," I marvelled. "Gavin. Have you learned how not to walk into a simple trap yet?"

Gavin gritted his teeth. He and I had history; I regularly cleaned his clock in Sergeant Campbell's mock-warfare exercises. He'd been squad commander on our very first, disastrous, exercise. Since then, I had taken over, and Campbell had ignored Gavin's protests. Placed on other squads, Gavin had tried his best to show me up, but with Lisa in my corner, he didn't stand a chance.

Which now, as I belatedly realised, was showing a distinct downside. There was more than one JROTC cadet who had a problem with my rough handling of their squads, and they probably made up the rest of the boys who had been convinced to bring in the girls who were intended to beat me up.

I took another look at the girls in question.

This was not intended to be easy, by any stretch. Not one of them was a teenager any more, and they were broader and more muscular than I was. Good clothes and an expensive hairstyle probably represented more money than most of them had seen in quite some time.

I glanced aside at the guy who held my handbag. "Take good care of that," I warned him. "I finish here, I'm gonna want it back."

He blinked with surprise at being so addressed, but I was already moving. Gladys was moving with me; we had done this dance before.

Only this time, there would be no time-outs.

The four girls spread out to surround us, arms spread wide, fingers crooked. I nodded. They intended to get close, to grab, to drag us down, and dogpile us. Sound tactics.

So long as I was willing to go along with them. As it happened, I wasn't.

* * *

I brought up my left hand; in it, I held pepper spray. The tiny canister hissed and spat a stream across the intervening distance between me and Larissa; she screamed and recoiled as I got her right in the eyes. Then I switched directions, aiming for the first girl coming after me. She also got a faceful, but the stream died and petered away before I could get the second girl.

That one grinned and cracked her knuckles as I tossed the useless canister away. "So, what you gonna do now, skinny bitch?"

I let the extendible baton drop into my right hand, from where I'd been holding it against my forearm. With a flick of the wrist, I snapped it out to its full length. As a follow-through on the move, I cracked her across the elbow on the first swing, and the side of the knee on the backswing. She screamed and fell to the ground, holding her stricken limbs.

"I dunno," I told her. "I'll think of something."

I took the time to put the first girl down, then turned to see how Gladys was doing.

The two girls facing her were undoubtedly skilled in simple brawling. Gladys had been taking training in boxing over the last eighteen months. She had heft, and she had muscle, and she had skill. By the time I turned around, she had already laid out one of the girls, and was advancing on the other with grim intent.

For my part, I turned to face the guys watching. "We can do this all night," I warned them. "You want to beat up on a girl, come right ahead. It can get as bloody as you like."

Danny pulled himself free from the guy holding him, then stepped up to my side. "And if you want to get to her, you'll have to come through me," he added.

It was a sweet sentiment, but I didn't want him getting hurt defending me. I turned to the guy who had been holding my handbag, but he was no longer there. My handbag was lying on the ground nearby, though.

I took a step toward it, and the second girl reached out and grabbed my ankle; frowning in annoyance, I turned toward her, raising my baton.

"No!" shouted Gavin. "Don't!" He moved toward me, necessitating me to divide my attention.

In that moment, Rachel darted forward and snatched the bag up. Upending it, she scattered the contents over the ground. I saw the tape deck fall, one corner cracked, the compartment springing open, the tape coming out.

_Lisa._

"No!" I shouted. I kicked the girl in the face, pulled my leg free and started forward; Gavin grabbed my arm.

He deserved what he got; I grabbed his little finger and bent it straight back, so fast and hard that it snapped before he had a chance to let go. He did let go, of course, but it was too late. Far too late.

Melanie Caldwell got in my way, briefly. As I had done, on the very first day I had met her, I kicked her under the kneecap. Same kneecap, too. I wondered absently if it hurt just as much as the first time.

Rachel Pritchard, who had spitefully told tales about me on that very first day, knew somehow about my attachment to that tape player, to that tape. She smashed her foot down on the cassette, shattering the plastic. Then she ground her heel into the coils of dark recording tape that spilled out of it.

I collapsed the baton. Wrapped my fist around it. And punched her so hard that I broke her jaw in two places.

Behind me, Danny had taken on Gavin; I had been giving him some pointers over the last year and a bit, and he had paid attention. Gavin wasn't that great at self-defence, and he had a broken finger to contend with; Danny was doing well. Franklin wasn't a fighter, but by now, most of the participants wanted to be elsewhere.

* * *

And so, when Principal Woodbine and several teachers came to investigate the commotion, they found quite a sight.

Larissa was still writhing on the ground, clawing at her eyes. Melanie was clutching her knee, while Rachel was out cold. Gladys had finished off her opponents, and had backed up Danny in keeping the others off of me.

And I was kneeling on the hard gravel, heedless of the damage to my dress or my stockings, cradling the remains of the shredded tape in my hands.

* * *

The police were, inevitably, called. It took a lot of talking, but matters were eventually sorted out. My baton was confiscated, but I wasn't charged for the use of it, nor of the pepper spray, given that I had used them in self-defence. It didn't matter to me; I had spares.

Nina was roused and came in to the police station to vouch for me; I showed her the destroyed cassette with tears in my eyes. She didn't understand, not really, but she comforted me, and told me that she would get another one. I wasn't sure if she could; her friend had gone out of the self-hypnosis business, and I hadn't been able to get a spare tape when I looked for one.

I didn't care about laying criminal charges, and I told them so. All I wanted was for that tape to be intact; as far as I knew, it was the only way I could contact Lisa, talk to her, be with her outside of a dream.

In a very real way, Rachel had just killed my best friend from my previous life. I would probably still dream of her, I knew, but without the reinforcement of the self-hypnosis, would the dreams themselves fade away?

Would I lose Lisa forever?

It wasn't the potential loss of the knowledge that hit me so hard; it was the loss of Lisa herself; the snarky humour, the ready grin, the reminder of the world I had left behind.

But of course, I couldn't explain this to anyone, not even Nina.

* * *

She drove Danny and me home; Dot exclaimed over the news of the attempted beating, and cleaned my knuckles, clucking in concern. They were only mildly split, but she seemed to be quite adept at it. I guessed that she'd had to do this more than once for George, in days gone past.

I left Danny and George sitting in the living room; George seemed to be getting a blow-by-blow account of the fight from his son. Slowly, wearily, I went upstairs and prepared for a shower.

I hadn't been hit once through the entire fight, but it seemed as though the wind had been knocked out of me. Never again would I be able to slip on the headphones, relax to the soothing strains of the music, and go to that place in my mind – or outside of it – where Lisa resided.

Turning on the shower, I stepped under the spray and closed my eyes. Hot tears welled in my eyes and leaked out from between the closed lids.

Slowly, I sat down, arms clasped around my knees, the bathtub hard under me.

"Lisa," I whispered. "I'm so sorry."

The repetitive drumming of the shower on the bathtub and the wall of the cubicle, the trickling of hot water over my face, down my body, even the breath moving in and out of my lungs, it all seemed to drag out, to fade away.

* * *

_There was a tap on my shoulder. I opened my eyes, to see Lisa regarding me quizzically from a foot or so away._

"_What?" she asked. "You've been calling my name for the last few hours. I've been trying to get your attention."_

_Looking around, I blinked. I was sitting on the patio with the fountains, in front of the memory palace._

_**Wow,** I muttered. **I must have fallen asleep in the shower.**_

_She shook her head with a cheerful grin. "Nope. You're still awake. So to speak, that is. You're definitely not in REM-sleep."_

_**But that's not right. I'm not listening to the tape.**_

_Lisa chuckled and shook her head. "You haven't needed that thing for ages. It was just a crutch."_

_**I haven't? But … oh god, I thought I was going to lose you forever.**_

_Lisa squeaked as I grabbed her in a fierce hug. "Hey, hey, it's all right, Taylor. It really is." She hugged me back._

_**So I can talk to you any time just by … relaxing?**_

"_Basically, yes," she agreed. "Now, it's time to finish your shower. You don't want to use all the hot water. Now, give me a kiss before you go."_

_Holding her close, I kissed her; her lips tasted of dust and blood._

_An errant droplet of water from the fountain flicked me in the eye; I blinked._

* * *

And I opened my eyes to the shower, with water still streaming over me.

With a much lighter heart, I finished showering off. Bidding the others good night, I went along to my room and climbed into bed.

With a smile on my face, I drifted off to sleep.

* * *

End of Part 1-9


	11. Chapter 11

**\o/**

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 2-1: Settling In

* * *

**September 1991**

I lugged my suitcases up the last few steps, turned right, and plodded down the dorm room corridor while searching for the correct room number. "Three oh five … three oh seven … ah, three oh nine."

Dropping the cases – they hit the carpeted floor with a solid _thump_ – I fished out the key I had been issued and tried it in the door. Wonder of wonders, it worked.

In the next instant, the door was wrenched open from within, leaving me with the key still in my hand. As it did so, I came face to face with another girl. This one sported a mass of freckles, flaming red hair, a sports bra, and a tartan mini-skirt.

"Yay!" she squealed. Then she grabbed me, pulled me down to her level – she was nearly a foot shorter than me – and planted a resounding kiss on my lips.

And _that_ was how I met Andrea Campbell.

I do not make a practice of kissing girls. Even before I had been catapulted back in time, even before the disastrous battle against Behemoth, you could count the number of times I had locked lips with a member of the same gender on one hand, and have a few fingers left over.

I'm not counting the 'goodbye' kisses that I share with Lisa in my sleep, and my self-hypnotic trances. That's different.

The redhead released me and stood back, an impish grin playing on her lips. Behind me, Danny had caught up with some more of my bags – George was still puffing up the steps behind him, if I was any judge – and was crowding forward, peering into the dorm room with intense curiosity.

For myself, I was still recovering from being kissed from out of the blue. As someone who does not make a habit of kissing girls romantically, I had to admit that she was pretty damn good at it.

"I – whu – buh – guh – excuse _me?"_ I blurted.

She blinked, and looked uncertain for a moment. "Wait a minute," she muttered. "Since when do you wear glasses?"

The non-sequitur caught me on the back foot. "Uh – I've always worn glasses?"

She tilted her head and looked at me again. "Oh. Wait. Sorry. I thought you were someone else." A fetching blush spread over her cheeks. "Sorry. Uh, come on in, roomie. I'm Andrea. And I just want you to know that I don't usually kiss _every_ tall girl I meet."

"Just some of them, huh?" I asked dryly, picking up my bags and walking in through the door.

Danny entered behind me, drawing an admiring wolf whistle from Andrea. "Wow, and I thought _she_ was tall." Cupping her hands around her mouth, she pretended to shout. "Hey! How's the weather up there?"

I had to muffle a snort as I dropped my suitcases once more. If I wasn't quite sure what to make of Andrea, Danny was certainly out of his depth. "Andrea … can we get a few things straight?"

She turned to me, eyes bright, all attention. I was reminded intensely of a collie pup waiting for a stick to be thrown. "Shoot, roomie."

I hid a smile. "Okay, the name's Taylor, not 'roomie'. This is Danny. He is not to be teased. And please keep the kissing to a minimum. I don't swing that way."

Her face drooped momentarily. "Aw." She glanced back to Danny. "Can't I tease him just a little bit? Is he your boyfriend? 'Cause I gotta tell you, if you want to bring him over for a quickie, hang your bra on the door handle. An all-nighter, hang your panties there. Got it?"

I held up both hands, spread wide defensively, as I shook my head and chuckled. I did not dare look at Danny; his blush must have hit his hairline by now. "No, seriously. Enough. He's basically my brother." I held up my finger. "And he's off-limits to you too."

"Hey!" she protested. "No fair! If you don't want him, he's fair game."

"No," I reiterated, "he's _not."_

I couldn't tell her, of course, that I was trying to make sure that he was free and clear to be with my mom when he met her; I could already tell that Andrea was fun and bubbly and as spontaneous as hell. Danny would probably be smitten in about ten minutes.

And that I was _not_ going to let happen.

She opened her mouth to make another argument, fortunately, we were saved by the appearance of George in the doorway.

"Danny," he growled. "Get downstairs and bring the rest of it up."

Reprieved, Danny slipped out past him, while George lugged the suitcases into the dorm room. He put them down and eyed Andrea up and down coldly.

"George Hebert," he grunted, surprising me. _He's actually making an effort to be civil._

"Uh, Andrea Campbell?" she ventured. She was only an inch or two shorter than him, but his bulk made three of her, and by no means all of it fat. His forearms were the thickness of her thighs.

He nodded once, briefly. "I will thank you to not distract Taylor from her studies. She's a good Christian girl, and she has a bright future ahead of her."

Bereft for once of the witty retorts which she so obviously made her stock-in-trade, Andrea nodded without speaking. This did not surprise me; I had seen burly men, Dock Workers as tough as any there, fall silent when he entered the room.

He turned to me. "Come, Taylor. Dorothy and I must go. We'll say goodbye now."

"Uh, okay," I replied. "I'll, uh, see you in a minute, Andrea."

"Uh, yeah," she responded.

She was still staring when I closed the door.

* * *

George thumped down the steps at a measured pace; I could have gone faster, but I chose to stay with him. We had gone down a flight before he spoke.

"She was scandalously dressed."

What could I do but agree? "Yeah, I wouldn't dress that way."

He grunted. "Do not tell Dorothy."

I blinked and stared at him. He stared unreadably back at me.

"Uh, I wasn't going to, but why are you making a point of it?"

"Because she may make a fuss," he informed me heavily. "She may decide that college is, after all, an unfit place for a young Christian lady."

I grimaced; we had already been through these arguments before. Sure, Brockton Bay College wasn't exactly the most wild and raucous of educational institutions, but it had its detractors. And if Dot had come up with us, seen Andrea's clothing, seen the kiss with which I had been welcomed, even by mistake … I had to agree with George.

"Not a word," I agreed.

He nodded. "Not a word."

A thought struck me. "Danny's not going with you?"

He shook his head massively. "He wishes to enquire about taking a course himself. We do not wish to remain here a minute longer than necessary, so he can take the bus back."

"Ah."

* * *

We exited the building, to find Danny heading toward us with the last two suitcases. "Uh, hold up a minute, Danny?" I suggested.

"Sure, okay," he agreed, setting the cases down immediately. Those two were heavy; I was glad Danny was carrying them.

Behind his back, George nodded fractionally at me. _Don't leave him alone with that hussy upstairs._

He did not know – could not know – why my requirements coincided with his, but I was glad that they did.

Dorothy was looking around in mild disapproval, as if expecting a wild party to erupt at any moment. All that was visible were some students walking here and there, interspersed with other cars decanting new students and their luggage.

"Taylor!" she greeted me, drawing me into a hug. I reciprocated, feeling her slender frame under my arms. "Are you _absolutely_ certain that you want to be staying here?"

"I am," I reaffirmed.

"You do know that your room is always free if you want to move back in," she assured me.

"I know," I told her, "and I'm grateful. But I have to prove that I can be independent."

_Plus,_ I told myself, _it will get me away from the not-so-subtle pressure that you two keep putting on me._

She kissed me on the cheek. "Oh, bless your heart," she beamed. "You're far gone from the skinny waif that my George pulled from the ocean all those years ago."

"Was Danny that pulled her out of the water, Dot," George reminded her gruffly, "and it was only two years ago."

"And I'm still pretty skinny," I added cheerfully. It was true; I would never put on serious weight. But Dot was correct in that I wasn't as skinny as I had been. Over the last two years, I had grown a few inches, and the JROTC training I had taken on in high school had given me more muscle than I had ever had before.

I intended to keep it up; Brockton Bay College had a thriving ROTC program, and I had already been assured of my welcome there.

Dot would not be put off. "You came into our lives, tired and frightened and bewildered, and look at you now. A fine young lady, taking your first steps away from home."

* * *

I was hard put to keep a straight face; if she but knew how far I had gone, how much I had done, back in Brockton Bay of 2011, she would be singing quite another tune. But I could not say this to her, and I dared not break out in laughter. So I nodded, and bit my tongue, until I was rescued by George. _Again. If this keeps up, I'm going to have to presume he actually **likes** me._

"Come along now, Dorothy," he rumbled. "We've wasted Taylor's time enough today."

Dot turned away to the car, after hugging me one more time. George lingered; driven by a sudden impulse, I gave him a quick hug. "Thanks, George," I whispered. "For everything."

"Hrmph," he grunted. "Take care. Be good."

Which, from him, was as good as a five-minute speech from any other man. I was touched.

He stumped back to the pickup and climbed in; without ceremony, he started it, and they drove away. To my surprise, I found tears standing in my eyes. I would miss them. In two years, the irascible George and the gently Christian Dorothy had grown on me more than I had realised.

* * *

Clearing my throat, I turned back to Danny, who was still waiting patiently.

"Come on," I invited him. "Let's get these up to my room, then we'll go talk to Admissions."

He hesitated. "Will she … be up there?"

I shrugged. "Probably. But I'll protect you from her."

He blushed again; I grinned, and led the way.

* * *

Andrea was a good deal more subdued when we re-entered the dorm room. There were no ambush kisses, either for myself or for Danny, and she watched as I arranged my cases on my side of the dorm room.

"Was that your dad?" she asked me in a careful tone.

I grinned at her. "Danny's dad. Sort of my foster dad, in a way. I'm an orphan -" _my parents in this era sure as hell don't know about it - _"and they took me in." I held out my hand. "Taylor Snow."

She shook it. "Uh, yeah, Andrea Campbell. Sorry about before."

I shrugged. "Eh. It's all right." I glanced at my cases, then at Danny, who was standing awkwardly, as if not really sure what to do with himself. "Screw it, I'll unpack later."

"Come for a drink?" invited Andrea brightly. "I've met a few people already. I'll introduce the two of you around." She grinned at me. "And there's someone you've just _got_ to meet."

I was tempted, but shook my head. I'd had enough of matchmaking for the time being. Besides, I wasn't legal for drinking yet, and where there was drinking, there was smoking, and cigarette smoke clogged my sinuses.

People smoked a _lot _more, back in the past.

"Sorry," I told her, smiling to take the sting out of it. "Maybe another time. Right now, I want to get Danny over to Admissions, so he can make some enquiries. See you around?"

"Sure," she agreed with a flashing grin. "See you later."

* * *

"Wow," commented Danny, as we made our way across the manicured lawns toward Admissions. 'Are _all_ college girls like that?"

I gave him a friendly elbow to the ribs. "Watch it, you," I warned him. _"I'm_ a college girl now too, you know."

"Oof," he responded. "Here I thought you were getting all mature and responsible, and you're still just as violent."

I raised an eyebrow his way. "Did you really want me getting 'violent' with you?"

His response was immediate and reflexive. "No. I've seen you and Gladys sparring. That scares the hell out of me."

I grinned. "Good boy. Looks like you _can_ learn, after all."

He cast about for another topic to raise. "Uh, so, I was kind of expecting to see Gladys?"

I shook my head. "I tried to have us assigned as room-mates for each other, but it wasn't going to happen. She's in another part of the dorm. When I find her, I'll see if her roomie minds if Gladys swaps out with Andrea."

He nodded. "That will be good. I like Frank. He's a stand-up guy."

I grinned and nudged his shoulder with mine. "You're pretty cool yourself, you know, Daniel Hebert. I haven't forgotten the fight at the prom dance. You and Gladys kicking ass and taking names."

He rolled his eyes. "That was more Gladys than me. When she fires off one of those straight rights of hers, _everyone_ feels it." He paused. "So, what's she doing this year?"

"Oh, uh, teaching and Computer Studies, I think," I told him. I knew that was it, of course; I had carefully persuaded her that she would be happier teaching than going into the military. And of course, she did like computers. Which meant that we would be sharing a class.

"And you're doing Computer Studies and … what?"

I ticked off on my fingers. "Criminology. Parahuman Studies. Beginning Psychology."

"Plus ROTC."

I nodded in agreement. "Plus, as you say, ROTC." I pronounced it 'rot-see', as he had. Although he'd learned to do it off of me.

He looked as though he were trying to complete a complex sum in his head. "So you're aiming at becoming … some sort of cop for super-powered people?"

I was somewhat impressed. That was almost exactly what I _was_ aiming at. Although the PRT didn't exist yet, he'd hit the nail almost exactly on the head.

"Something like that," I agreed off-handedly. "Oh, hey, Admissions. You go on in. I'll wait out here."

"You can come with, if you want," he offered.

I shook my head. "No thanks. Spent way too long standing in line in there, already. Go have fun. I'm gonna soak up some sunlight."

He nodded and bounded up the steps two at a time; I looked around and found a bench in the sun, that let me lean back against the stone wall of the building. It was warm, and quite comfortable; I unzipped my coat and relaxed into the warmth. My eyes drifted shut.

* * *

_I was riding a jet-ski. My reflexes took over while my mind boggled, leaning into a long sweeping curve, holding the throttle wide open. Alongside me, Lisa rode an identical watercraft, engine screaming just as loudly, as we skipped over the wavetops._

_Once I got my breath back, I had to admit, it was a lot of fun. I wore a wetsuit with a bug emblem on the front, while Lisa's sported the eye from her Tattletale costume._

_We curved again, leaving creamy wakes far behind, as we powered on. The shriek of the engine, the drumming of the watercraft on the wavelets, the whistle of wind past my ears – it was exhilarating. I grinned across at Lisa, and she grinned back; she was obviously enjoying it just as much as I was._

_Dolphins rose from the depths, leaping high into the air. I ducked slightly to pass under one as it leaped **over** me, reaching up my hand to trail fingertips momentarily against its sleek, slippery-wet underside. It splashed down again, spearing into the water with barely a ripple, then came up alongside, matching me in speed. I laughed out loud with happiness._

_We turned our 'skis again, heading for an island, atop which sat the memory palace. Day by day, month by month, year by year, Lisa had been tirelessly building on to it. My memories, both the ones I had lived through, and the ones she had told me about, took up room after endless room in there. I had walked the echoing passageways at her side, and viewed recollections that I did not remember having._

_The dolphins paralleled us for a while, chittering and leaping and performing ludicrous stunts such as midair barrel rolls, then they broke off as we approached the shoreline. Gravel crunched as we ran the jet-skis up on to the strand and killed the engines._

_The silence was suddenly loud in my ears. **Wow,** I told her as I unzipped the wetsuit to reveal T-shirt and shorts underneath. **That was a lot of fun.**_

"_I thought it would be," she informed me smugly. Her own wetsuit came off to show the same swimsuit she had worn on the yacht. We slipped on sandals and trudged up the road toward the palace._

_**So it's an island now, **I observed, looking around at the brilliant blue-green ocean surrounding us._

_She grinned. "Only when we want it to be. All in your mind, remember?"_

_I nodded. **Ah. Of course.**_

_We settled down on the patio in front of the fountains, and sipped the chilled drinks that just happened to be waiting there for us._

_**So yeah,** I went on, changing the subject. **I'm in college now. Whee. Any suggestions?**_

"_Nope. Just keep doing what you're doing. Though maybe you should have gone with Andrea to meet her friend."_

_I frowned. **I've already got George and Dot trying to matchmake me with Dad. I don't need more potential romance in my life. I just need to stick to the plan and make it work. **I held up my glass so she could clink it. **With your help, of course.**_

_She grinned her fox-like grin. "Of course. But sometimes you do need to socialise. And I think you may be surprised."_

_I rolled my eyes. **Okay, fine. I'll socialise. But don't expect me to like it.**_

_She nodded. "Sure. Kiss before you go?"_

_I kissed her. It wasn't at all like when Andrea had kissed me. Her lips tasted of dust and blood. She grabbed me by the shoulder and shook me._

* * *

I blinked and looked up at Danny. "Huh, what?"

He was staring down at me with a little concern. "You were twitching a little, and mumbling."

"Oh, uh, I was?"

He nodded. "Couldn't make it out, though. Were you asleep?"

I stood up and brushed myself off. "I don't think so. Maybe a nap." I stretched. "I do feel refreshed. So how did it go in there?"

He waved a bunch of papers at me. "The courses I was thinking of doing are full up now, but I put my name down in case there were any drop-outs."

"Did they say if that happened very often?" I asked, zipping up my coat; a cool wind had started up.

"Enough to make it worth my while, they said," he informed me.

"Cool. Will you be living on campus or off?"

He tilted his hand. "The bus commute will be a real bear, but it will be cheaper living at home."

_And George and Dot will be able to keep a better eye on you, there._

I nodded. "Sounds reasonable."

He folded the papers and stuck them in his pocket. "So, where do we go now?"

I pretended to think. "How about we go by the Club, and see who's there?"

He eyed me sternly. "You know you're still too young to drink."

I rolled my eyes. "I have no desire to drink. Soda will do me just fine. Socialising does not necessarily equal alcohol."

He raised his hands in surrender. "Okay, fine. We'll go look at the Club."

* * *

The Brockton Bay College Recreational Club, known to all and sundry as 'the Club', was actually a fairly low-key affair. We located it on my map of the college, found our way there, opened an unassuming door, and there it was.

"Wow," I commented, observing the dozen or so couples quietly drinking and chatting. Soft music was playing, and a few more people were slowly moving around the dance floor off to the side. "Looks like party central here. Be still my beating heart."

Danny nodded. "Huh. I could actually bring Mom and Dad here, and they wouldn't immediately have a fit."

I grinned at him. "Just don't do it on a Friday or Saturday night. It probably looks a little different then."

An arm waved from a nearby table. "Taylor! Danny! Come on over!"

I looked in that direction, and recognised Gladys and Franklin. "Oh, hey, guys!" I called back.

Together with Danny, I headed in that direction, and we pulled out chairs to sit at the same table. Gladys, the same age as me (more or less) was nursing a pink lemonade, while Franklin, her senior by a year and a bit, had something that looked vaguely alcoholic.

"So, you found your dorm room yet?" I asked her.

"Oh yeah," she grinned. "My roomie's a Bible student. She keeps quoting Scripture. So I quote it right back." Her association with me and Danny's family had given her a more than passing acquaintance with the Bible, something that had pleased Dot quite a bit.

"Oh god," I groaned. "I wish mine was more like that."

"Why?" she asked. "What happened?"

Danny chuckled out loud and I shot him a dirty look, then recounted the events around meeting my roomie for the first time. By the time I finished, both Gladys and Franklin were laughing.

"Well," Gladys managed to comment, "I'm glad you made a good first impression."

"Oh, shut up." I tried to sound grumpy, but I couldn't stay mad at Gladys.

A teenaged waiter came over, and Danny and I both ordered a soda. The drinks arrived in relatively short order, and we settled down to drink and catch up on news.

"Have you seen the ROTC facilities?" asked Gladys.

I shook my head. "No, not yet. When do we start that?"

Her eyes widened. "What, you didn't get the flyer?"

"No," I told her. "I've been a bit busy."

"Here," she offered. "I got a spare." She handed me a crumpled flyer; I flattened it out and read it.

"Wait, what?" I blurted. "Tonight?"

She nodded. "Tonight. Just orientation. You don't have to show up in uniform, but they'd probably like it if you did."

"Well, it's a good thing I brought mine along today," I observed.

"Yeah." A sudden grin. "Oh, and get this. They've got Springfields! And pistol training, too!"

A matching grin spread across my face. "Excellent. Something I might be able to beat you in."

She showed her teeth. "Hah. As if."

Danny glanced at Franklin. "Should we be worried that the girls are talking about how good they are with guns?"

Franklin snorted. "We're just going to have to out-masculine them, then." He deliberately lowered his voice to a growl. "Now, then, my dad's got a four-by-four that … "

Gladys and I burst out laughing at the same time.

* * *

I'd had two more glasses of pink lemonade before Danny glanced at his watch and paled. "Ah crap," he muttered. "I should have been home an hour ago. Dad's gonna kill me."

I stood up. "I'll walk you to the bus stop."

"Don't worry about it," Franklin told him. "I can give you a lift."

"You sure?" asked Danny.

Franklin slapped him on the back. "No problems."

"Are you safe to drive?" asked Gladys practically.

He nodded. "I've been on water for the last hour."

I hugged Danny. "I'll see you later, then."

He hugged me back. "See you later – _college girl."_ Pulling free of the hug, he stepped back before I could perform mayhem on him.

I grinned. "Watch it, you."

* * *

Gladys and I walked them to the parking lot, where they got into Franklin's car. We waved goodbye as they headed out of the college.

"Okay, now I think it might be time to go get changed if we don't want to be late for ROTC," Gladys suggested.

"I think that might be a good idea," I agreed.

We strolled back toward the dorm side by side, at ease with each other.

"So Danny's talking about getting an engineering degree," I commented.

"Might not be a bad idea," Gladys agreed. "Not sure what Franklin's going to do. Family business, I guess." Franklin's family owned a chain of convenience stores.

"He could get a degree in business administration," I suggested.

"That's not a bad idea either," she admitted.

We entered the dorm building and headed up the stairwell. She got off at the floor below mine.

"What room number are you?" I asked her.

"Two-thirty-three," she told me. "You?"

"Three-oh-nine," I replied. "Come up and visit sometime."

"I will," she promised, and disappeared into her corridor. I kept going up the stairs.

* * *

By now, finding my dorm room was second nature, but I paused when I got there; a tiny, lacy pair of panties was hanging over the doorknob.

_Oh great. She's got someone in there._

But my need was great, and so I slid the key into the lock and carefully turned it. It _snicked_, and I eased the door open.

There was an amorphous lump on Andrea's bed, and soft noises coming from that direction that I didn't want to try to interpret. I went straight to my suitcases and tried to recall which one I had packed my uniform in. Heaving one on to my bed, I pulled the contents out on to the covers, trying to see what they were by the dim light filtering in through the window.

That wasn't it, so I lifted the next case up. I was in the middle of searching through it when Andrea's bedside lamp clicked on.

"Taylor, what the fuck?" she demanded. "Didn't you see my panties?"

"Look, I'm sorry," I told her, using the light to grab what was definitely my uniform. "I have to get changed. I'll be out of your way shortly, I promise."

It was then that I looked around at her, and the girl sitting up in bed with her. They were both still wearing underwear, for which I was grateful. But it was her bedmate that I was staring at.

"Ah, it's all right," Andrea assured me, in one of her mercurial changes of mood. "We were just fooling around a bit anyway. This is that girl I wanted you to meet. Doesn't she look just like you?"

"I … guess," I managed. "So you two … you're a couple?"

Andrea shrugged. "Sort of. On and off. We've known each other for years. Ever since Lustrum."

I was still staring. "Lustrum …?"

"Oh, yes," agreed the other girl in her bed. "We were both in her following, until people started getting violent, then we left. But we kept in touch with each other. Pleased to meet you; I'm Annette. People call me Anne-Rose." She offered a slim hand.

Numbly, I shook it. "Taylor Snow," I replied automatically.

_Oh shit. My mom's in a lesbian relationship with my room-mate. What the fuck do I do now?_

* * *

End of Part 2-1


	12. Chapter 12

**/o\**

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 2-2: Relationships

* * *

_I glared at Lisa, trying for a severe tone. __**It's **_**not funny**_**.**_

_She continued to roll about on the floor of the patio, howling with laughter._

_I growled with irritation. __**Okay, so it's funny, but it's not **_**that **_**funny.**_

_Lisa sat up, eyes still streaming, face red from the mirth. "Oh, yes it is," she informed me, then burst into giggles all over again._

_I pit my hand over my eyes. __**Can we just be serious for just a moment?**__ I pleaded. __**We need to figure out what I need to do to fix this.**_

_Lisa wiped the tears from her eyes, then climbed back on to the patio chair. "You should have seen your face," she chuckled. "In fact, you should have realised what was happening when Andrea kissed you, the first time you met."_

_**I've never **_**been**_** to college in the nineties,**__ I protested. __**I don't know what goes on here! For all I knew, that was a common thing!**_

_Lisa chuckled again. "To be honest, you're not far wrong," she admitted. "But when she seemed to recognise you? Didn't that at least make you wonder?"_

_**It **_**should **_**have,**__ I conceded. __**But I was kind of flustered, at the time. Anyway, how am I going to sort this mess out?**_

_Lisa tilted her head. "What mess?"_

_**You know damn well what mess,**__ I charged her. __**My mom's having an affair with my roommate. How do I get her together with Danny instead?**_

_"Well, you do realise," Lisa reminded me, "even if they don't get together, it won't negate your existence."_

_I waved my hand impatiently. __**I knew that bit. I still want to get them together.**_

_Lisa's tone was gentle. "And even if you do succeed, whatever kid they're going to have is highly unlikely to end up exactly like you."_

_I shook my head. __**I don't care.**__ Which wasn't precisely true. I did rather want there to be a younger version of me someday. If nothing else, Lisa's younger self would need someone to keep her in line. But there was nothing I could do about that at the moment, at least not until the more pressing issues were solved. __**How do I get them together?**_

_She shot me a perceptive look. She knew exactly why I wanted Danny and Anne-Rose to be a couple. He would be happy with her, and she would be happy with him. It was as simple as that._

_"Okay," she began. "Just leaving them to their own devices only has a minor chance of success. Danny was supposed to be in Admissions, seeing about engineering studies, instead of helping you carry your luggage upstairs. He would have met her in line, they would have struck up a conversation, and eventually they would have gone for a drink. By the time she reunited with Andrea, she would have been much more interested in Danny."_

_I sighed. __**Noted. So how do I get Anne-Rose away from Andrea long enough for her to notice Danny?**_

_Danny, I knew, would not take much persuading to take notice of Anne-Rose; she and I were very similar in appearance, although she was closer to him in age. More to the point, I was the unrequited crush, while she was fully available ... if we could just split up the happy couple. Which was the part I was already feeling bad about._

_"Well ... " began Lisa, "I kind of have a plan. But I don't think you're going to like it."_

_I sighed again. __**I've already got a bad feeling about this. Hit me.**_

_Lisa put her hand on mine, and looked me in the eye. "You're going to have to take one for the team."_

_I frowned. __**What?**_

_Her tone was patient. "You're going to have to seduce Andrea away from Anne-Rose so that your father has a chance of getting together with your mother."_

_I blinked. __**I – I can't do that. **__ Panic rose in my throat. __**I have no idea how to do that. How do I do that?**_

"_Now, I know you're straight -" began Lisa._

_I cut her off. __**Lisa, seriously. Yes, I'm attracted to guys. But with Brian, that was teenage hormones, for the most part. And later, as his girlfriend, that was more to get his head in the right place to get back to leading the team than for any gratification on my part.**_

_She squeezed my hand, her expression sympathetic. I kept talking, to get it out of my system. __**You know what's funny? While we were together, I would have liked some small romantic gesture from him, something to show that he wasn't just, you know, **_**using**_** me. That his feelings were more than just need for companionship. But there was barely anything. And then later, just before Behemoth, I couldn't help feeling that he thought I'd abandoned him to join the Wards. That there were feelings there that he'd never expressed.**_

_Lisa got up, rounded the table, and hugged me close. I hugged her back._

"_When you were together, Brian did love you, in his way," she assured me. "But he was … broken. Damaged. He could barely express anything at that moment. You did what you needed to, got him functioning again. You saved the Undersiders, when we needed saving in the worst way." She leaned back, brushed hair from my eyes. "And you got to have him as your boyfriend for a month." She paused, her eyes searching mine. "Was it worth it? Did you get what you wanted out of it?"_

_I grimaced. __**I don't know. I guess I enjoyed it, but when I had to move on ...**_

_She nodded. "You moved on. You did what needed doing."_

_**Yeah. I liked being with him, I enjoyed the intimacy, but I wasn't hung up on it. I'm really not hung up on being in a relationship with anyone. I don't need it. And I don't need the sex. It's not who I am.**__ I looked her in the eye. __**So yes, I'm straight, but only really gauged by the fact that I've been attracted to a couple of guys here and there, and not to any girls. And I have no idea how to seduce **_**anyone**_**, much less a lesbian.**_

_Lisa grinned. "And yet, you've kissed more girls than guys."_

_I poked my tongue out at her. __**Shut up. That was the plague. And Andrea ambushed me.**_

_It seemed to me that Lisa was still deriving far too much amusement from this situation. "I know," she assured me. "Your brain just locked up. It was __**hilarious**__." She cleared her throat. "So, you're going to go with the seduction?"_

_**There's no better way to get them together?**_

_She shook her head; she tried to keep a straight face, but her grin kept quirking the corner of her mouth. "Not that I can see."_

_I spread my hands. __**Okay, if that's the way I gotta do it, that's the way I gotta do it.**__ I grimaced again. __**But the trouble is, I'm not even vaguely **_**attracted**_** to girls. And I have no idea how to do it. Or how long I'm going to need to keep it up. Or what she's going to want me to do.**__ This option was looking less and less attractive all the time._

"_But you want your parents together."_

_I nodded. __**Yes. Dad always said that the happiest years of his life were with Mom.**_

_She took a deep breath. "Okay. Here's how we're going to do this ..."_

-ooo-

"_Hebert household; Dorothy speaking."_

"Hi, Dot! It's Taylor. How are you?"

"_Taylor dear! It's so good to hear your voice. How are you doing at college? We all miss you, you know."_

I grinned. "Well, it's still only the first week. I'm settling in and making friends."

"_That's wonderful to hear, Taylor. How is Gladys doing?"_

"She's doing well," I assured Dot. "Her roommate's a Bible student."

"_That's very nice," _she replied. _"And your own roommate? What is she like?"_

I decided not to give her chapter and verse. "We get along. No arguments yet."

"_I'm pleased to hear that. Would you like to speak to Danny?"_

"Actually, yes please. If you don't mind?"

"_Of course not. Here you are."_

The phone was handed over, and I heard Danny's voice on the other end. _"Taylor! How are you?"_

"Oh, I'm doing fine, Danny. ROTC's great. You wouldn't _believe_ Gladys' scores with the Springfield."

Danny snorted. _"Yeah, well, I'm not going to compete against that girl. I've seen her shoot."_

I chuckled. "Good point. But hey, how would you like to come to the Club with us on Friday night?"

He paused. _"'Us?'"_

"Yeah, us. Me, you, Gladys, Frank, Andrea, and Anne-Rose."

"_We're not a couple, right?"_ he ventured.

"Nope," I assured him. "It'll be just like the prom."

"_Without the fighting, I hope," _he joked.

I rolled my eyes. "God, I hope so."

"_Uh, I've met Andrea, I think," _he ventured. I grinned; Andrea had that effect on people. She was very memorable. _"But I don't think I know this Anne-Rose."_

"Oh, she's very nice," I told him airily. "You'll like her."

-ooo-

"It's a bit loud, isn't it?" shouted Danny.

"What?" I shouted back.

"It's a bit loud!"

"Yeah!" I agreed.

It was more than 'a bit loud'. Friday night at the Club – we had decided more or less unanimously that travel expenses would far less strenuous if we just stayed on campus – tended to pull out all the stops. The speakers were blasting music non-stop, and at ear-bleeding levels, though it tended to be stuff I actually liked, rather than what would be around in another twenty years or so. _I guess Dad's tastes have rubbed off on me more than I thought._

"Can we go outside on the deck?" shouted Gladys.

"What?" yelled Danny.

"Out! Side!" bellowed Frank.

We all nodded, and picked up our drinks.

Frank had ordered the drinks for everyone else; Danny, Anne-Rose and Gladys had sodas. Andrea got something with an umbrella in it, and Frank himself had gone with a wine cooler. I had gone to the bar on my own and ordered (via sign language) a glass of whiskey on the rocks. I'd been prepared to be rebuffed; after all, I was still underage. But the overworked bartender hadn't even blinked. Then again, he probably would not have cared even if he knew I was under twenty-one; I was at college anyway, right?

Whatever the legalities of the situation, I needed the Dutch courage to get up the nerve to do what I intended to do next.

We found an unattended table, far enough out of the way that the music was only loud, not deafening. I held off sitting down so that when Danny sat next to Anne-Rose – from whom he had hardly been able to tear his gaze since he met her – and I sat next to Andrea. She looked at me curiously as I belted back the remainder of my drink; it burned down my throat and set my eyes to watering.

"Well, that's a bit better," Gladys declared. "Now we can at least talk without screaming."

As everyone else nodded or spoke in agreement, I made my move; under cover of the table, I put my hand on Andrea's thigh and squeezed slightly. I had no idea how to come on to her in any other way, without being so blatant that everyone else saw me at it. As it was, I nearly talked myself out of even doing that; only the dull buzz from the alcohol allowed me to go through with it.

She certainly got the message; startled, she turned and stared at me. I looked back at her, as boldly as I dared. She put her hand on mine; I nodded slightly.

"I, uh, need to go powder my nose," she announced, and grabbed my hand, squeezing it.

I got the hint a moment later. "Uh, I'll come too," I declared.

When I stood up too quickly, my head swam for a moment; even at eighteen (pretending to be nineteen), I still didn't have sufficient body mass to take a serious drink without getting fuzzy around the edges. But it passed, and together we made our way to the womens' bathrooms.

-ooo-

_Andrea helped Taylor wash her face after throwing up, then got her to her feet. The taller girl was all knees and elbows, and didn't seem to have much in the way of coordination; she frowned. Even a non-drinker, and one as skinny as Taylor, should be able to hold her booze better than this._

_With help, Taylor could walk, but only just. As they stumbled from the bathrooms and back over toward the table, Danny stood up, looking alarmed. He headed toward them and helped take part of the burden from Andrea; with his height, he was ideally placed to do so. "What happened?" he asked. "Is she all right?"_

"_She's really drunk," Gladys observed. She waved her hand in front of Taylor's face. Behind her glasses, Taylor's eyes slowly crossed._

"_Wow," marvelled Anne-Rose. "Does she do this often?"_

_Danny shook his head. "Not in all the time I've known her."_

"_She didn't drink that much," Frank observed. "Why's she so drunk?"_

"_I think someone might have spiked her drink," Andrea told them. "That shit happens from time to time."_

"_Oh shit," blurted Danny. "Do we need to take her to the hospital?"_

_Andrea shook her head. "She'll be fine. She just needs to sleep it off. I'll get her back to the dorm."_

"_Need a hand?" asked Frank._

_Andrea nodded. "She's skinny, but she still makes two of me."_

_Gladys stepped forward and scooped Taylor up almost effortlessly. Taylor giggled helplessly and rested her head on her best friend's shoulder._

"_Wow," Andrea commented. "I knew you worked out, but … wow."_

_Gladys grinned. "We've practised doing this exact thing in JROTC, with exercises where one or the other is 'wounded'."_

"_So what happens if you're the one who's 'wounded'?" asked Frank as they moved away from the Club._

_Gladys chuckled. "It's a lot harder for Taylor. But she usually figures something out."_

_When they got to the dormitory, Andrea turned to the others. "Danny, can you and Frank keep Anne-Rose company while I show Gladys where to put Taylor? We should only be a moment."_

_No-one disagreed; Andrea led the way, while Gladys followed patiently, bearing her now-snoring burden with ease._

"_Wow," commented Gladys. "That really hit her hard."_

"_It affects the skinny ones worse," Andrea explained. "It didn't help that she was drinking straight whiskey."_

"_I wonder why she hit it so hard tonight," mused Gladys. Andrea chose not to comment._

_Once Andrea had the door open, she hit the light, and showed Gladys into the room. "Just put her down there," she instructed. Gladys, moving carefully, placed Taylor on to the appropriate bed. She couldn't know, of course, that the bed in question was Andrea's._

_As she was put down, Taylor roused a little._

"_Mrs Knott," she slurred, smiling up at Gladys. "M'fav'r't teacher."_

"_Not yet, Taylor," Gladys told her softly, pulling her shoes off and dragging the covers over her. "In time, but not yet."_

"_Gotta tell everyone," murmured Taylor, going under fast once more. "watch out f'r ..."_

_She began snoring once more, and Gladys shared a glance with Andrea._

"_What was that about?" asked Andrea curiously._

_Gladys shrugged. "Frank's last name is Knott. We're gonna get married once I graduate. I'm going to be a teacher. Taylor's always supported me in doing that."_

"_And the other bit, about warning people?"_

_Another shrug. "Who knows. She's drunk. She might be wanting to warn people that the doorknobs are sentient and planning to take over the College."_

_Andrea chuckled, then yawned. "Actually, you know, I might just turn in, now that I'm here and all. I'm really tired, and I have to get up early tomorrow."_

"_Okay," agreed Gladys. "I'll make sure Anne-Rose gets to her room okay."_

_Andrea smiled at her. "Thanks. I appreciate it."_

_She watched Gladys leave, then shut the door, carefully locking it. Humming a little tune, she headed back to the bed currently occupied by her sleeping roommate, unbuttoning her clothes as she went._

-ooo-

"_Wow, seriously?" asked Danny. "My mom does exactly the same thing!"_

_Anne-Rose nodded earnestly. "And my dad … oh my god, my dad. It's like he's got a hundred-point graded essay for any boy who even thinks about taking me out."_

_Danny shook his head. "I know how that goes. I get that, but from the other direction. I meet a girl, she gets the third degree. Like, how are we ever expected to learn proper judgement if we're never allowed to exercise it?"_

_**Oh my god, a guy who actually understands me.**__ Anne-Rose looked at Danny Hebert, her heart beating faster. While Andrea was fun, she was shorter than Anne-Rose, and a girl; while Anne-Rose rather liked being with Andrea, her preferences were toward taller men. Not many men were taller than her. Danny was. Andrea was fun, and flirty, but never looked at the serious issues. Danny did, and he __**agreed**__ with her._

_But there was Taylor to consider; Anne-Rose didn't want to intrude on something that was already there. "Um, about Taylor …?"_

_Danny shook his head. "She's kind of my sister. We're not involved." He paused; Anne-Rose could swear she could read the thoughts going through his head, given that they were the same ones that had gone through hers. "Uh, about Andrea …?"_

"_Andrea's gone to bed," Gladys filled in, pushing the door open and rejoining the group. "Said she was tired."_

"_Wasn't she drinking too?" asked Frank._

_Anne-Rose shrugged. "Yeah, but she knows her limit."_

"_Why don't we go for a walk?" suggested Gladys. "It's a lovely night."_

_It was indeed; so Gladys took Frank's arm, and more or less by default Anne-Rose found herself taking Danny's arm. It seemed very right to her, and she didn't notice him complaining either. Together, the foursome strolled about the grounds of the College, skirting around party-goers, and tactfully not taking notice of the stranger noises emanating from the shadows._

_When they got back to the dormitory, some time had passed, and it was generally agreed that it was time to finish for the evening._

_Gladys re-opened the door and glanced at Anne-Rose. "I can make sure you get to your room okay, if you want."_

_Anne-Rose shook her head. "No, I'll be fine. I just want to say good night to Danny."_

_Gladys smiled. "Okay then. Night, you two."_

_Before Anne-Rose could comment that there were three of them being left behind, Frank had ducked in through the door as well. It swung shut on their giggling as they ascended the stairs._

_In the silence that followed, Danny ventured, "Uh, he's not just seeing her to her room, is he?"_

_Anne-Rose smirked and shook her head. "No, he's not."_

_They shared a self-conscious chuckle. "Um, I just want to thank you," she began, "for a really nice night."_

"_Even though your girlfriend bailed on you," he added scrupulously._

"_Oh, she's not my girlfriend," she replied candidly. "We just like being together. Anyway, your date – sister, whatever – got drunk and passed out too."_

_He moved closer to her; she felt his nearness and shivered. It was a good kind of shiver. "I'm really glad she did," he murmured. "I enjoyed tonight, a lot."_

_She nodded. "Yeah," she agreed. "It's been really, really nice talking to you. I want to see you again, if that's okay?"_

"_You – you do?" he gulped. "Uh, sure. Any time. Just call me."_

_She giggled. "I don't have your number, silly."_

"_Ask Gladys, or Taylor," Danny advised her. "They both know it."_

_Anne-Rose nodded. "Okay," she agreed. She paused. "Do you really think she looks like me? Andrea couldn't shut up about it."_

"_It is kind of funny, yeah. But I suppose this sort of thing happens, with second or third cousins, or the like." He smiled down at her. "But you're a lot prettier than her, anyway."_

_She lifted up on tiptoe and kissed him, a gentle peck on the lips._

"_Flattery," she murmured, "will get you everywhere."_

_And then, as he was still standing there, stunned, she opened the door._

"_I'll see you later, Danny," she promised him._

_He nodded. "Uh, yeah," he mumbled, but the door was already closing._

_Anne-Rose danced up the steps, her heart still racing from Danny's proximity. __**He likes me, he really does,**__ she sang to herself. She didn't see the gawky frame, the weak chin. She saw the kind, considerate man, who understood her as few did._

_She saw Danny Hebert for what he was, and she liked what she saw._

-ooo-

_Danny watched the door close, and he turned to walk back to the car-park. For the occasion, he had borrowed his father's truck, and had driven Frank in; now he understood why Gladys' boyfriend had asked him to do it that way._

_For a moment, he felt a pang of envy, and wondered if Anne-Rose would have let him come up if he'd asked – __**no!**__ he told himself sternly. __**She's a good Christian woman, and you've only just met her. You will treat her right.**_

_But even though he wasn't doing with her what Frank was undoubtedly doing with Gladys at that very moment, he could not help feeling a tremendous lightness of heart as he located the truck and unlocked it. __**She kissed me. She likes me, she really does.**_

_**I want to see her again.**_

_All the way home, he sang loudly and out-of-tune along with the popular tunes on the radio._

-ooo-

_George Hebert roused himself from his armchair as the headlights swung into the driveway. He heaved himself to his feet and went to open the front door; just as he did so, he heard Danny locking the truck. They met on the front steps, a study in contrasts; the tall, skinny young man and his shorter, much more heavily built father._

"_You're home," George grunted. "Earlier than I expected." He sniffed, but could not smell alcohol on his son's breath. There was tobacco smoke there, but that was to be expected._

_Danny nodded. "Yeah. Taylor, uh, wasn't feeling well, so she went to bed, and the rest of us walked around for a bit, and then I came home." He smiled. "I met a girl, Dad."_

_George nodded dourly. Of __**course**__ the boy had met a girl. It happened, at those sorts of things._

"_Is she the sort of girl that your mother would approve of?" he asked._

_His son surprised him by nodding judiciously. "I think so, Dad," he agreed. "She's really nice." _

"_We'll see," muttered George, turning to go back into the house._

_He turned out the lights and followed Danny up the stairs. He and Dot had grown used to having Taylor in the house; it felt subtly emptier with her gone. If Danny had found a girl who actually liked him, and who Dot approved of … well, time would tell._

-ooo-

_I frowned. __**I feel weird.**_

_Lisa looked up from where she was forcing a live chicken into the barrel of a cannon of some sort._

"_That's not surprising," she commented. "Your drink was spiked."_

_My eyes opened wide. __**Oh god. Am I all right?**_

_She nodded and pulled a lever on the side of the cannon. The chicken's alarmed __**b-kawk**__ echoed from out of the cannon's barrel._

"_Yes and no," she assured me, swivelling the cannon to point down the train tracks. "You're unconscious, but they got you back to the dorm. Unfortunately, you kind of made an agreement before you lost all lucidity."_

_**Agreement?**__ I blurted, alarmed. __**What sort of agreement, and with whom?**_

_A train horn blared in the distance; while I waited for her answer. She carefully sighted down the cannon barrel._

_**Lisa?**__ I prompted her._

_Finally satisfied with the alignment of the cannon, she turned to me. "With Andrea," she informed me._

_**Uh … what sort of agreement?**__ I asked with trepidation. __**The last thing I remember is getting up with her to go to the bathroom.**_

_Instead of answering, she picked up a tablet, tapped it a couple of times, then handed it to me._

* * *

_Inside the women's bathrooms, the noise was cut somewhat; Andrea grabbed me and pushed me backward into a cubicle. I found myself sitting down hard on the closed lid of a toilet while Andrea wriggled past the door and locked it behind her._

_I had a whole speech prepared; I got as far as "I -" before she straddled my lap and kissed me._

_Her arms were around me, holding me close; I could feel her not inconsiderable breasts pushing against mine, even as I belatedly remembered to put my arms around her. Kissing her back was weird, but not disgusting or even distasteful; as I had noted before, she was a good kisser._

_After an extended period of time, she pulled back from me, looking into my eyes._

"_Huh," she muttered. "Not bad."_

_I tried again. "I -"_

"_Shut up," she ordered me. "Whatever you were going to say, forget it. Not interested. I just want to know one thing. Why?"_

_By now, I was totally confused, not to mention a little dizzy; being very thoroughly kissed like that, even by a woman, had had its effect on me. The alcohol didn't help. "What?"_

_She smiled at me. "I know you're straight, Taylor. You don't check girls out. You barely check guys out. You're not the pranking type. But you're coming on to me. It's not because of my sexy, sexy bod. So why?"_

_Guilt overwhelmed me. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm such a moron."_

_She looked a little confused. "I don't get it."_

"_I didn't mean to hurt you," I blurted. "I just wanted to give Danny a chance to meet Anne-Rose."_

_Andrea blinked. "Danny? The almost-your-brother Danny? You were getting me out of the way so he could get close to Anne-Rose?"_

_Miserably, I nodded. "Yeah."_

"_Wow," she murmured. "Wow. Does he know you're doing this for him? Does she?"_

_I shook my head, and swayed as the world spun. She took hold of my shoulders, steadying me. "Whoa, are you all right there?"_

"_Don't normally drink," I slurred._

"_But you've been knocking it back so you'd be brave enough to come on to me, even though you're ultra-straight," she realised. "I don't know if that's incredibly stupid, incredibly brave, or incredibly nice of you."_

_I began to cry, holding on to her. Tears flowed warm down my cheeks. "Sorry, so sorry. Just wanted Danny to be happy."_

_She chuckled. "Hey, it's all right. I'm not mad. Even though I thought for a bit I was gonna get my fondest fantasy realised."_

_I must have looked confused, because she continued. "Threesome, duh. With twins. Or close enough. How come you two look so much alike, anyway?"_

_I could not conjure a suitable lie, so I shrugged. That seemed to pass muster with Andrea, who held me as I cried noisily into her shoulder._

_The tears dried up pretty quickly, and Andrea helped me dry my eyes and blow my nose._

"_'m sorry," I slurred. __**Wow, this stuff is really hitting me hard.**_

_She grinned at me. "Hey, it's okay," she assured me. "Anne-Rose and me, we're not exclusive. We got involved with each other when we were with Lustrum's movement, and it's been sort of on and off ever since. But we both know that if I found someone serious, or she did, it'd be over." She brushed the hair back out of my eyes. "So if she happens to like this Danny guy, I'll step back and wish her luck."_

"_Thank you," I whispered. I was starting to feel acute embarrassment now, not least because I was still sitting in the toilet cubicle with Andrea straddling my lap._

_She tilted my chin up. "Oh, you're not getting off that easily, Taylor Snow," she murmured, and kissed me again. I kissed her back, partly due to guilt, and partly because she really was a good kisser. It was starting to feel really, really easy to do what she wanted._

"_What d'y' m'n?" I mumbled, when we broke for air. _

"_I mean, that's a sneaky and underhanded trick," she admonished me, with a smile on her face. "And you deserve a punishment that fits the crime."_

_I looked at her, not really comprehending what she was saying._

_She kissed me again, briefly. "I let Danny and Anne-Rose alone, and in return, you agree to be my girlfriend for a week."_

_All I really got out of that was that Danny would be left alone to be with Anne-Rose. Which was, after all, the point of the whole exercise. So, like the half-drunk idiot I was right then, I slurred, "Deal."_

_She went to kiss me again; my eyes went wide, and I shook my head. She didn't know what was going on until I clapped my hand over my mouth._

_We got the toilet lid up just in time._

* * *

_I looked up from the tablet just in time to see Lisa pull the lever that fired the cannon. I expected some sort of compressed air __**whoomph**__, but instead there was a tremendous BOOM, and the chicken hurtled out of the cannon at what looked like supersonic speeds. It struck the nose of the oncoming train, and the whole thing exploded in a tremendous ball of flame._

"_Woo hoo!" whooped Lisa. "Sufficient velocity theorem – proven!"_

_I looked at the wreckage of the train, with a chicken-sized hole cored right through the middle of it, and the twisted train tracks. __**I'm not sure what that was about,**__ I told her, __**but you sure as hell made a mess.**_

_She grinned. "Didn't I, just?"_

_**But I have more pressing concerns. I've been spiked, I'm unconscious, and I'm alone in my dorm room with my roommate, who has agreed to let Danny be with Anne-Rose so long as I agree to be her girlfriend for a week. Does that about cover it?**_

_Lisa nodded. "Yeah." She paused. "Just so you know; it worked. Danny and Anne-Rose are on the way to forming a strong relationship."_

_**And me?**__ I asked._

"_You could be, also," she informed me, with an impish grin._

_**Lisa,**__ I pleaded. __**Don't leave me hanging. What's she **_**done**_** to me?**_

_Rolling her eyes, Lisa relented. "She hasn't molested you. But she has … kind of undressed you and gotten into bed with you."_

_**Oh god, **__I groaned. __**Oh god. How do I get out of this?**_

_Lisa took me by the shoulders. "Taylor," she told me bluntly. "Andrea's a nice girl. She won't take advantage of you. She won't force you to do anything you don't want to do. The worst that's going to happen over the next week is severe embarrassment. And that never killed anyone."_

_I got a grip on myself. __**Okay, **__I muttered. __**Okay. One week. I can do this.**_

_Lisa grinned at me. "That's the spirit." Her eyes twinkled. "Though I'm probably going to have to build an extra wing on to the memory palace for all the new experiences you're about to have."_

_I glared at her. __**You suck.**_

_The unrepentant grin stayed on her face. "Yeah, but it's fun. Hey, do you want to stick around? I'm about to see what a frozen chicken does to a space shuttle on landing approach."_

_I shook my head. __**May as well wake up and face the music.**_

_Lisa smiled and pulled me close. "Okay. Kiss before you go?"_

_Her lips were warm and soft, and tasted momentarily of dust and blood._

-ooo-

I opened my eyes, and the kiss did not end.

As Lisa had warned me, I was lying in bed; the tactile sensation of the sheets warned me that I was either partly or totally naked. A warm body was entwined with mine – a _female_ body, I noted absently at the back of my mind, given certain anatomical aspects – and the owner of said body was kissing me with a certain degree of enthusiasm.

I moved; the kiss ended. Andrea – for it was indeed she – pulled back and regarded me with a very familiar spark of mischief in her eyes. "Wakey wakey, sleeping beauty," she told me.

I sighed. Lisa's revelations had prepared me so that I did not freak out. "Morning, Andrea," I greeted her.

She smiled. "That's 'good morning, _girlfriend,_' she informed me with a giggle.

I didn't see any way out of it. "Good morning, girlfriend," I repeated obediently.

With a sigh of happiness, she snuggled against me; I was very aware of her body against mine. Then she pulled back again. "Wait a minute; how much of last night do you remember?"

For a moment, I considered claiming total amnesia. But if I broke the deal I'd made – admittedly, under the influence of alcohol and whatever drug had been used to spike my drink – then Andrea might well interfere between Danny and Anne-Rose.

"Uh, up until I threw up," I admitted.

"So you remember agreeing to be my girlfriend for a week," she pressed.

Glumly, I nodded. "But I don't recall working out terms, what that means. Things that you're allowed to do and not allowed to do, without permission anyway." I gestured at myself. "For instance, this? Undressing me? Sleeping with me? Kissing me? That's pushing the boundaries a bit, isn't it?" I stopped, a cold chill running down my back. Despite Lisa's assurance to the contrary, I stared at her. "Did we … actually … _sleep_ together?" Because if that had happened, that would make the whole thing far creepier than I could handle.

Hastily, Andrea shook her head. "No, we just slept in the same bed."

"Naked," I added dryly.

She had the grace to colour slightly. "It seemed the thing to do?"

I stared levelly at her, until she looked away. "Okay, that was pushing it a bit, I guess."

I nodded. "Fine. Now, I've agreed to the girlfriend thing, but we need to establish ground rules. Okay?"

She looked a little apprehensive. "I … guess?"

"None of this guessing bullshit," I told her bluntly. "If we're going to be a couple, even for a week, we need to both know where the lines are drawn."

-ooo-

" … okay, but any time we're in public, I get to hold your hand," Andrea stated.

"Holding hands, sure," I agreed. "But if you want to kiss me, you have to ask permission."

"Private or public?" she asked quickly.

"Both," I decided.

"All right, but you have to kiss me at least once, in public, per day," she countered. "And I'm allowed to grope you once a day."

"Only my ass," I warned her, "and only in private."

"That's no fun," she pouted.

"Okay, you can put your arm around my waist in public," I acceded.

"Okay, fine," she agreed.

We both sat, cross-legged, on her bed. I had put on underwear; she had chosen to stay undressed. I had the feeling that she was making a point.

"Okay, that covers the public affection part," I noted. "Now for the, uh, private stuff."

"Yeah," she agreed. Leaning forward, she whispered something extremely obscene in my ear. I felt the blush mounting to my hairline. Sitting back, she grinned at me. "We could do that, for starters."

I shook my head. "Ground rules. Nothing like that happens without informed permission. And that means no alcohol. Us being naked in the same bed, you kissing me while I'm asleep … not without permission. _Never_ without permission."

She looked at me pleadingly. "Can we at least cuddle? In bed, but with clothes on? I don't know, two hours a night?"

I sighed, admitting the point. I _had_ agreed to be her girlfriend, for a week. And this was balanced against Danny and Anne-Rose having a happy future together. And, darn it, Andrea was fun and bubbly and cute and interesting to be around. I liked her, a lot. Just not in _that_ way. But if this would make her happy …

_It could be a lot worse._

"Fine," I muttered. "Clothed cuddling. One hour a night."

"Kissing, with permission?" she asked.

I nodded. "I already agreed to that."

"Groping, with permission?" she pressed.

"If I say stop, you stop," I reminded her.

She nodded earnestly. "And sex?"

I blinked, then realised that she'd trapped me. I put a growl in my voice. "I, uh, if you ask, and I give specific and explicit permission, then yes. Otherwise, no."

"Yay!" she cheered. Leaning forward, she went to kiss me, then paused. "Uh, can I kiss you?" she asked.

I smiled and shrugged. "May as well."

I had to admit; being kissed by Andrea _was_ an experience.

_But however nice she is,_ I told myself firmly, _sex is __**not**__ going to happen._

Just for a moment, I thought I heard distant, far-off laughter.

-ooo-

_**Wow,**__ I muttered dazedly. __**What was **_**that**_**?**_

_Lisa looked up from where she was in the process of tying down a velociraptor. "Oh, that?" she asked. "That was sex. Congratulations, by the way." She gestured. "Pass me that branding iron, will you? Careful of the hot end."_

_I passed her the branding iron, as requested. The captive 'raptor hissed and struggled and tried to bite, but Lisa had done her job well, and the ropes held. She pressed the iron to its flank, and the letters 'TT' were seared into its hide; it squalled and struggled, but to no avail._

_As it got up, it tried to maul her; she deftly kicked it on the tip of the snout, and it backed off, blinking. After a moment, it decided to rejoin the rest of the herd, milling restlessly outside the yard._

"_Well, that does that for the day," Lisa decided, dusting her hands off. She offered me a high-five._

"_Well, was it all right?"_

_I returned the high-five. __**I guess. She kind of snuck it up on me though.**_

"_But within the rules you set, though, right?" she pressed._

_I nodded. __**Yeah, technically. Though I reckon asking me when and where she did ask me was kind of cheating.**_

_She smirked. "It's called 'seduction' for a reason."_

_I glared at her.__** I thought you were against sex.**_

_She shook her head. "Hell no. It's just that I've always been unable to carry it through, because my filters don't work when I'm in that kind of state."_

_**I'm not surprised,**__ I muttered, having very recent memories of being in 'that kind of state'._

_She nodded. "But yeah, you enjoyed it, right?"_

_Reluctantly, I nodded. __**I … yeah. Andrea's really good at it.**_

_She grinned. "Do you think you'll let her do it again?" We strolled over toward where a comb-crested dinosaur stood, eyes half-closed. It bore an elaborate saddle on its back, and the TT brand on its flank._

_I scowled. __**Don't hold your breath. It was nice, but the week's up in two days.**_

_She whistled shrilly and the comb-crested dinosaur obediently bent its legs so that she could climb up into the saddle. Leaning down, she gave me a hand up; I sat behind her on the saddle, my body pressed against hers. It reminded me of spooning with Andrea; the feeling was strangely comforting._

_Turning her head, she grinned. "You don't need to break it off at the end of the week if you don't want to," she reminded me._

_I shook my head. __**The last thing I need right now is a relationship of any kind. I have to keep my head in the game and my eye on the ball. Besides, I'm not into girls.**_

"_I suppose not," she agreed, but amusement gleamed in her eyes. "Kiss before you go?"_

_I kissed her; her lips tasted of dust and blood …_

-ooo-

… and I awoke with my lips pressed to Andrea's.

She looked up at me, her eyes wide with surprise. I broke it off, realising that we were still in bed – we had pushed the beds together for this night – and exactly as unclad as we had been, the first morning I had woken up next to her.

Only this time, it seemed, _I_ had kissed _her_ awake.

"Oh, wow," she murmured. _"That's _what I call a wake-up."

She reached for me; I rolled off of her. "Uh, sorry," I mumbled. "I didn't mean to ..."

She went up on to one elbow, studying me. "Huh, you didn't, did you?"

I shook my head. "I was asleep, and dreaming ..."

" … and you kissed someone else, and it turned out to be me," she finished, then giggled. "Hey, I've got no problem with you cheating on me in your dreams." The idea seemed hugely funny to her.

"I wasn't cheating on you," I protested. "I was just … kissing someone. It was different."

"So tell me," she invited.

"It was a friend … I think … before I got my amnesia," I told her. She knew about my 'amnesia', of course, and had taken it in her stride. "I think she … died in my arms, or something. I kissed her goodbye. I dream about it, sometimes."

All of which was true, for a given definition of 'true'.

"Wow," murmured Andrea. "That sucks." She put her hand on my arm. "Was she your girlfriend?"

I shook my head. "No."

"Just a friend?"

I blinked my eyes against the tears that welled against the memory, still sharp. Always sharp. "Just a really, really good friend."

She gathered me into her arms, and for once it wasn't sexual, or even playful. It was just … comforting. Holding, soothing me.

It was … nice.

_Maybe this isn't so bad after all._

-ooo-

**Weymouth Mall, early December**

"We have to talk," Danny told me.

I looked at him, surprised at his sharp tone. "What? What's the matter?"

He inclined his head at where Anne-Rose and Andrea were browsing a rack of dresses, chatting amicably. "It's about Andrea."

"What about Andrea?" I asked him. "She isn't making moves on Anne-Rose, is she?" I was fairly certain she wasn't, but it never hurt to ask.

He shook his head. "No, but that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

I spread my hands. "What, then?"

"It's been three weeks since I met Anne-Rose," he began, his voice dreamy. "You've been … going … with Andrea ever since, haven't you?"

I nodded, slightly surprised. _Has it been three weeks already? Wow._

* * *

_Andrea smiled sadly, looking down at Taylor's sleeping face. She looked so sweet, so innocent. So untouched by the world. But she was anything but; the scars that Andrea had never asked about, the reflexive movements, the murmuring in her dreams. They all pointed to past trauma, buried deep. Taylor seemed to get by when she was awake, but sometimes Andrea would see a shadow behind her eyes, a shadow of a past that Taylor could not recall or talk about._

_**Week's up today,**__ she told herself with a touch of melancholy. She had originally stipulated the 'week as my girlfriend' as a kind of prank, fully expecting Taylor to rebel, waiting to see how long she'd go before telling Andrea to go to hell. But she had stuck it out, gradually unbent to the point where she seemed used to sleeping in Andrea's embrace._

_The lovemaking had been a bonus; Andrea had never expected her to allow things to go that far. But they had, and Taylor, although inexperienced, had proven to be a quick study. It had only been the once, but Andrea would treasure the memory._

_She wanted to wake Taylor with a kiss, like on the first morning, but just as she had shown Taylor things she had never expected, so too had Taylor impressed upon her the need to follow the rules. And Taylor had not given her permission to kiss her while sleeping, not this morning anyway._

_Taylor opened her eyes slowly, and looked up at Andrea. "Morning, girlfriend," she murmured._

_Andrea smiled. "Not any more," she reminded the younger girl. "It's Saturday morning. Week's up."_

"_Oh," replied Taylor, looking a little lost. "Wow. Already?"_

_Andrea rolled back, giving Taylor her space. "Yeah. Already. So we can pull the beds apart now. You don't have to be my girlfriend any more." She shrugged. "After all, we both know you're not into girls. We can go back to being just roommates." The pang of regret that she felt was very real._

_Taylor sat up, crossing her legs unselfconsciously. Andrea, as always, admired the view. "Do you want me to?" Talyor asked directly._

_Andrea blinked. " … what?"_

_Taylor spread her hands. "Do you want me to stop being your girlfriend? It's a simple question."_

_Andrea tilted her head, trying to make sense of what Taylor was saying. "Are you saying you want to … keep … being my girlfriend?" Her frown transfigured into a strained smile. "Are you saying you're into girls now?"_

_Taylor took a deep breath. "Yes. No. It's … complicated. I like you, a lot, as a person. I appreciate the things you've done for me. The way you're there for me. I like what we do; it's nice. If this was with a guy … I think … I'd probably enjoy it more, but … there would be a whole different dynamic. I'd probably end up pulling out at some point."_

_Andrea got the impression that she was speaking from experience, there. Taylor had never told that story; perhaps it was one that she could no longer remember, except by impressions._

"_So … you __**don't **__want to stop?" asked Andrea._

_Taylor shrugged diffidently. "If you don't mind having a girlfriend who's not actually into girls, who's just using you for emotional support … uh, sure?"_

_Andrea smiled. "I can do that." She paused. "The, uh, ground rules?"_

_Taylor reached out and took her hand. "Open to revision."_

_Andrea's smile widened._

* * *

"What I want to know," Danny stated, bringing me back to the present, "is whether you introduced me to Anne-Rose just so you could engineer a break-up and end up with Andrea."

I gaped at him. "I … what?"

His voice was patient. "It's simple enough. Did you break up Anne-Rose and Andrea, using me as bait for Anne-Rose, so you could start a relationship with Andrea?"

I was so surprised, I began to laugh. Danny scowled at me. "It's no laughing matter," he told me severely.

I couldn't help it; I laughed harder. Dimly, I became aware of someone slipping into the seat beside me, putting an arm around my waist. I clung to Andrea, laughing even harder, now that the subject of the joke was actually there.

"What's funny?" she asked. "Come on, tell me the joke."

"It's not a joke," Danny growled. "It's serious."

"I'll tell you what it is," I gasped, trying to hold my laughter in check. "It's seriously funny, is what it is."

"What?" persisted Andrea. "What's so funny?"

Anne-Rose was looking at me with concern. "What are you laughing about?"

I managed to restrain myself to the occasional chuckle. "Andrea, Danny just asked if I split you and Anne-Rose up so that I could have a chance at you."

"_What?"_ gasped Anne-Rose in shock, just as Andrea got the joke.

Now it was Andrea's turn to burst out laughing; it was infectious. I joined in again, while the other two stared at us from across the table as if we had gone mad.

"It's _not funny,"_ Danny snapped. The tone was close to his father's, and the words were the same as I had used to Lisa, when I had first discovered Andrea in bed with Anne-Rose. This set me off again.

Eventually, both Andrea and I managed to stop laughing at the same time. Faces red, eyes streaming, we clung to each other, still giggling occasionally.

"I'm waiting for an answer," Danny told me.

"Me too," Anne-Rose declared. "If you _did_ do that, then that was a mean trick to play on Danny and me."

I frowned. "Really? Even though you two are so good together?"

She nodded earnestly. "Yes! What if there's someone out there better for him than me? Forcing me on him ..."

Danny shook his head. "Not forced, Anne-Rose. Never forced. But I still want to know."

I took a deep breath, and leaned into Andrea for courage; she leaned back, supporting me. "You've got it exactly backward, Danny. I didn't break them up so that I could be with Andrea. I broke them up so that you could be with Anne-Rose."

-ooo-

_Taylor's bombshell took Danny by surprise._

"_What?" he blurted. "Why?"_

_Andrea turned to look at her girlfriend. "Actually," she mused, "I've been wondering about the 'why' myself." She grinned. "Not wondering too hard, mind you. But she was fairly set on you two getting together, even at the expense of getting into a relationship with yours truly, which made me wonder just a little bit."_

"_But that doesn't even make sense," Anne-Rose protested. "We've never even met before."_

_Danny nodded, remembering. "Taylor," he began, "remember back when we first met, and you told me we could never be together?"_

_Taylor nodded. "I remember," she told him softly._

_There was a shape there; if only he could piece it together. "You said there was a __**reason**__ we could not be together. You said you'd tell me someday."_

_Taylor grimaced. "If I asked you all to just forget about this, would you?"_

_She met three stares, coming back her way._

"_Forget it? No," Andrea told her._

"_We could drop it," Danny added._

"_But we couldn't forget it," Anne-Rose assured her._

_Danny blinked as a flash of insight came to him. "Is this anything to do with the fact that you and Anne-Rose look so much alike?"_

_Taylor half-rose, staring at him. "Don't go there Da-Danny. Please don't go there. Don't even __**think **__about that." The tone of pleading in her voice struck him to his core._

_Silence fell, as the other three of course thought about that._

"_Well, fuck," remarked Andrea. "Now I __**am**__ curious."_

_Taylor took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. "God fucking dammit," she muttered. "Okay, fine. But not here."_

-ooo-

We strolled along the Boardwalk. On a Saturday, it was fairly well-populated, but the people moved in clumps, and it was easy to see anyone coming before they got into earshot.

" … okay," I began, when the silent stares of the others became too much to take. "I'm a time traveller."

Anne-Rose's jaw dropped, Andrea looked like a kid opening her presents on Christmas day, and Danny merely nodded slightly, as if he had long since suspected something of the sort.

"When from?" he asked.

"Future," I told him, then shrugged. "Two thousand eleven."

"Wow, holy shit," blurted Andrea. "You're not even _born_ yet."

I refrained from telling her that I probably never would be. "That's true," I agreed.

"So, uh, how -?" asked Anne-Rose. "Are you a parahuman? Is that your power?"

I shook my head. "No. I'm not a parahuman." _Not any more._ "I was … sent."

"What's it like in the future?" Danny wanted to know.

I took a deep breath. "Grim. Things … happen. I can't tell you too much, but it gets bad."

Andrea blinked. "What? A nuclear war or something? Alien invasion?"

I stifled a snort, trying not to think about what Lisa had told me about Zion. _The alien invasion already happened._ "No. Something … different."

Danny stared at me. "So why are you here? To warn us? Why haven't you?"

I shook my head. "How? Who would I tell, with the absolute guarantee that I'd be listened to, and not locked away and plumbed for the future knowledge locked in my head?" If I'd kept my powers as Weaver, I would have had half a chance. As plain, simple Taylor Hebert … not so much.

"Okay," Anne-Rose put in practically. "So why are you so determined to force us together?"

I looked at her, and at Danny, until the penny dropped.

"What?" she gasped. "We're _married_, in the future?"

I nodded. "In the future, you once told me that when you met Danny, you met a magnificent dorky guy with a warm heart and an awful lot of passion. He worshipped you, and you… I think he gave you permission to do what you really wanted to do in life, at a time when your parents were being controlling. Your mother never really forgave Danny for luring you off the track she'd set to be with him, getting you pregnant with … getting you pregnant so early in life."

Silence fell, as Danny and Anne-Rose turned toward each other.

"Worshipped you … " he murmured. "I can do that."

She smiled. "Permission to do what I really want … I think I like that."

They moved into one another's arms. I smiled, tears welling in my eyes, as I watched them kiss.

* * *

Andrea snuggled up to my side, her arm around my waist. "I saw what you did there," she murmured.

"Oh, really?" I murmured back. "And what might that be?"

She leaned up on tiptoe toward my ear, her voice dropping to a whisper. "You're their kid, aren't you?"

I nodded fractionally. "Yeah, but I can never tell them."

She snorted. "They'll figure it out."

I shook my head slightly. "They'll _suspect._ But they won't want to know for sure. Or at least, Danny won't."

She turned to look at me curiously; we had taken several paces away from the oblivious couple. "Why not?"

I grinned slightly. "Because when we first met, Danny ended up with a huge crush on me. And he nearly told me he loved me, once."

She grimaced. "Ew. Awkward." She blinked as things became clear. "Which is why you warned me off of him. So he could be with her."

I nodded. "And please, don't ever suggest a threesome again."

She shook her head. "Yeah, no. Too weird for words."

I slipped my arm around her shoulders; she leaned comfortably into me.

"So now you know," I ventured. "Still want to be my girlfriend?"

"Depends," she replied. "If you didn't come back to warn us, what _did_ you come back for?"

I smiled. "To save the world."

She raised an eyebrow. "As simple as that?"

I shook my head, my expression showing her just how serious it was. "No. It's likely to be a long, bloody and violent affair. Dangerous as hell. But it's something I have to do."

She looked up at me, and shrugged. "What the hell. Count me in."

I leaned down and kissed her. It seemed fitting.

* * *

End of Part 2-2


	13. Chapter 13

**\o/**

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 2-3: Christmas Special

* * *

I watched the others as they absorbed the revelation I had given them. Gradually, Danny and Anne-Rose separated, and turned to me.

"Wait a minute," Danny began. "If -"

I held up a hand. "Ice cream, then questions."

Andrea nodded firmly. "Yes."

* * *

Several minutes later, armed with ice cream – in December, no less – we continued our stroll down the Boardwalk. Winter winds whipped in from the ocean, filling our nostrils with the scent of salt air.

"Danny," I stated. "You had a question."

Danny nodded. "Yeah. If Anne-Rose and I are together in the future -"

She elbowed him in the ribs. "Hey, what's this 'if', buster?" she demanded with a grin.

He put an arm around her and pulled her close. "Assuming that Anne-Rose and I are together in the future … " he began again.

"Better," she muttered. Andrea and I hid grins.

Ignoring her, he went on. "Assuming that, where do you fit in? Are you some younger relative to Anne-Rose? Because you _do_ look alike."

From the look on Anne-Rose's face, I saw that she had just realised the truth. Her eyes went wide. "No," she breathed. "No _way."_

I grimaced. "I didn't want things to go this way. I didn't want people _knowing._"

Danny got it too, just then. His eyes widened as well. He looked as though he was about to be physically ill; remembering, no doubt, illicit fantasies about me.

_Well, I can't help that._

I took a deep breath. _Time to set some things straight._

"I am _not_ your daughter," I told them firmly.

They both blinked, then, and stared at me. Andrea looked up at me curiously.

"But you look like -" began Danny.

"You just said -" Andrea started to say, at the same time.

I shook my head; my voice was crisp. "I will say this just once. I was born Taylor Anne Hebert. That's not me, not any more." I paused to let that sink in. "My name _here and now_ is Taylor Snow. I was – will be – born in a different timeline to this one. My parents, Danny and Anne-Rose Hebert, _are not you. _They met in a different manner to how you two met. The life they had was – will be – subtly different from the life you will lead. Which means that while you will probably have at least one child, that child _will not be me_."

Silence fell as the wind whipped away my words.

Andrea was the first to speak. "But that means you'll never exist -"

I shook my head. "But I _do_ exist. I'm standing here."

"If you're a time traveller at all," Anne-Rose stated unexpectedly.

Andrea and Danny stared at her; she stepped forward, but kept hold of Danny's hand.

"I'm listening," I told her.

She stared at me. "I could imagine you being our daughter," she mused. "I can see Danny in you. And I guess Danny can see me in you. But that could be coincidence, or disguise, or that you're related in another way."

I nodded. "It could. Or I could have a power that lets me look like you."

She nodded hesitantly, apparently taken a little aback by my willingness to go along with her statements. "And you don't need to be a time traveller to know that Danny and I are well matched. Hell, for all I know, you saw me and decided to foist Danny off on me because you were sick of him mooning over you."

I nodded. "Not a bad appraisal," I agreed. I looked around. "Anyone else want to add to it?"

"Wait a minute," Danny objected, "so you never had amnesia." It wasn't quite a question.

I looked at him. "Nope. I remember everything as clear as day. All my memories are intact." _Even the ones I don't remember having._

He looked betrayed. "So you _lied_ to me. You lied to Mom and Dad. You lied to Ms Veder."

I took a breath. "Danny," I reminded him. "I've been lying to _everyone_ from the moment I arrived here. I _couldn't_ confide in you. Or anyone." I rubbed my chin. "Though I think Nina might have her suspicions."

Anne-Rose broke in again. "But seriously, twenty years back in time? Is there anything, any power, that can do that?"

"Twenty-two," Danny corrected her didactically. "Me and Dad rescued her in nineteen eighty-nine."

"Twenty, twenty-two, whatever. My question stands."

I nodded. "There's one. He's really, really powerful." I tilted my head. "He was in his thirties when I met him, so he's probably in his teens now. Probably hasn't triggered yet."

She looked sceptical. "So you can't produce him."

I shook my head. "Nope. He's not in America, anyway. When I met him, he had one associate who could teleport mountains into orbit to create meteor showers, and another one who could teleport and bypass the Manton limit -"

Danny frowned. "The Manton limit? What's that?"

I paused, looking at them. "You don't know?"

Anne-Rose shook her head. "No. What is it?"

_Huh. So it isn't common knowledge._ I paused. _Actually, it wasn't then, either._ I remembered having to be told about it. Non-capes generally didn't hear about it.

"It's a kind of arbitrary limit on peoples' powers. If someone can affect non-living, they can't affect living, and vice versa. For instance, if I could become insubstantial, the Manton limit would be what stops me from putting my hand in your chest and pulling out your heart."

_That_ brought on another silence, which I made use of, by eating my ice cream.

Andrea broke it this time. "Not that I don't disbelieve you, not really, but … do you have any actual _proof_ that you're from the future?"

I sighed. "I could reel off future events until midnight, and there'd be no proof until they came to pass. And I can't tell you about _past_ events because I might have heard of them. So, you can't prove I'm _not_from the future, and I can't prove I am. Impasse."

"So tell us stuff about the heroes we have now," offered Andrea. "Stuff that people don't know."

"Not their secret identities," I warned her.

She shook her head. "No, just other stuff."

I blinked. "Um. Let's see. Legend's gay. He'll be coming out in a few years."

Danny's jaw dropped, as did Anne-Rose's. Andrea looked startled, then smug.

"No _way,"_ breathed Danny.

I nodded. "I can guarantee it."

He shook his head. "Mom's _not_ gonna be thrilled." He paused and grimaced, then looked sympathetically at me. "She's still mad at you, you know."

* * *

I nodded. I well knew Dot's views on homosexuality. Ever since she learned I was dating Andrea – and how she found _that _out, I would never know – I had not been invited back to the Hebert household. Ironically, this was at exactly the same time as Danny started dating Anne-Rose, and thus took that particular pressure off of me.

It still rankled at me; I, personally, had no axe to grind when it came to homosexuality or otherwise. Legend, Flechette, Parian, and undoubtedly quite a few other capes, were openly gay. In my era, it was less than a non-issue; it simply didn't make the radar. But here and now …

I did not consider myself to be a lesbian. I didn't even consider myself to be bisexual. I didn't look at girls and think, "Wow, that's sexy." I _understood_ that some girls were more attractive than others, and Andrea was rather pretty in her own right, but that didn't affect my judgement in any way. But the relationship that Andrea and I had more or less fallen into was … different. We both fulfilled a need in the other; it just wasn't the same need.

To say that our relationship was 'complicated' was to understate matters considerably.

But the very act of sleeping in the same bed with another girl was apparently all that Dot needed to raise the red flag. I liked the woman; she put up with George, and had helped raise Danny without too many hangups, including her own bigotry, but I did wish she would get her mind out of the Victorian era.

* * *

"Wow, huh," Andrea commented. "That'll kick over a few hornet's nests."

"It makes the world a lot more accepting of the gay community, that's for sure," I agreed.

Anne-Rose gave me the same sort of stare that she had - would have, whatever – used on luckless students who presented sloppy work in her English class. "Unfortunately," she observed, "that still falls into the realm of 'unverifiable future events'. Do you have anything else?"

I was considering that, when Danny asked another question, one that got my attention.

"Why were you sent back? What happened?"

I debated telling them about Behemoth, about how the monster broke loose of the trap designed to kill him and set about rampaging across India. Across the world, for all I knew. But I didn't know how that would go.

_One year,_ I recalled. _He's going to emerge in just one year. _The thought was shocking; when I had first arrived, I'd had three years. A comfortable margin, I'd thought. Not any more.

I shook my head. "I can't tell you. Sorry. It's too big."

Anne-Rose's expression turned more sceptical; I racked my brain for a way to convince her.

And then I had it. _Why am I even trying to make her believe me?_

"Danny?" I asked. "Do you believe that I'm a time traveller?"

Danny hesitated, then nodded.

"Why?" I asked bluntly. Anne-Rose looked at him, as if wanting to ask the same thing.

"Because … I _know_ you," he said slowly. "I've known you for years. I pulled you out of the water. You're the exact _opposite _of stupid or forgetful. You would never be in the water without a lifejacket on. You're strong, tough, independent. Sometimes you say things that make me wonder. But you never, ever lead anyone on. Except with that damn amnesia thing." He smiled. "Whatever children Anne-Rose and I have someday, I'd be proud if they were half the person you are."

The warm feeling that his words gave me spread through me. _Wow. I didn't realise that he felt this strongly. Anne-Rose – Mom – you're a lucky girl. I hope you realise that._

"Thanks," I told him simply, then looked at the redhead next to me. "Andrea. Do _you_ believe I'm a time traveller?"

She frowned. "If time travel's a thing … yeah. I believe you."

"Okay," I responded. "Why?"

"Well," she began. "You have some really weird scars. And I can tell you've been through a lot; the way you act in crowds. How hard you train with ROTC." She paused.

"Yes?" I prompted. _Wow, she's really perceptive._

That was when she dropped the bombshell. "And … you talk in your sleep sometimes. Conversations. About things that don't make sense."

I went cold all over. _She's been listening to me talking to Lisa._

"What … have you heard?" I asked quietly.

She shook her head. "Like I said, doesn't make sense. About the Protectorate, and something called the PRT, and something else called the Triumvirate, and something else called Behemoth, and something called Endbringers …?"

"_Fuck,"_ I muttered. "I'm going to have to start wearing a gag to bed or something." I stared at her, willing her to understand how serious this was. "Andrea. What you just said? Incredibly dangerous. Don't ever say those things out loud again. Okay? Try not to even _think_ about them."

_Thank God I didn't mention the Simurgh in her hearing, or Leviathan. Or how he hits Brockton Bay. Or – oh god – Eidolon's role with the Endbringers._

She stared back at me, her green eyes tinged with concern. "Okay, okay, I got it." But then her natural curiosity got the better of her. "But _why?"_

I sat down on a bench, and put my forehead in my hands. "In about one year, it'll all start becoming really, really clear. But I do _not_ want to talk about it. Not here. Not now."

She sat beside me and held me close; I shuddered, then leaned into her embrace. "Hey," she murmured soothingly. "It'll be okay. It'll all be okay."

Her arms around me were so very comforting. This was the main reason Andrea and I had remained as a couple; she kept me grounded in a way that I needed. That I hadn't _known_ I needed for two long years.

I shook my head. "No. No, it won't."

A creak informed me that Danny had sat on the other side of me. He put his arm around my shoulders. "Hey, are you all right?" he asked with concern.

"No," I told him, although I appreciated the concern. "You've all just reminded me that I need to start moving faster." I took a deep breath. "I need to set things in motion." Looking up, I caught Anne-Rose's eye. "You don't know me, you don't believe me. That's fine. Ask yourself; do you want to spend your life with anyone other than Danny Hebert?"

There was a long pause. She looked at me, then at Danny. Slowly, she reached down and took his hand. "No," she told me. "No, I don't."

I nodded. "Good enough. Forget the time travel stuff. Get your degree. Hell, change your degree to something else. Get married. Or get married and _then _get your degree; I don't care. Be with Danny. Have kids. Be happy." I smiled; it was brittle, but it was there. "I'm just a crazy girl who said some crazy things one crazy December day."

She still stood there, staring at me. I looked back at her. "Yes?"

She shook her head. "I don't know what to think, now. Time travel doesn't make sense, but … Danny believes you, and Andrea believes you … "

I smiled; it was more genuine. "I'm not going to force you to believe one way or the other. It's your choice. Just do me one favour."

She tilted her head. "What's that?"

I made my tone utterly serious. "Don't tell anyone what we've said today. At all. Ever."

She blinked. "Yeah, okay." A nervous chuckle escaped her lips. "Like anyone would believe me."

I nodded. "Exactly."

Danny squeezed my shoulders. "What can I do to help?"

I shook my head slightly. "You need to be with Anne-Rose, to make a life with her, to raise your kid – or kids – responsibly, and to do a good job in the Dock Workers' Association."

He frowned. "But … I want to help you."

"Trust me," I told him sincerely, "you will be."

He blinked. "Oh. Okay."

I put my arm around his shoulders and squeezed. "And just in case I've forgotten to say this in the past? Thank you, for being a good friend. I really appreciate it."

"You know," he commented doubtfully, "this is starting to sound awfully like a goodbye."

I sighed; white vapour puffed from my lips. "In a way, it is," I admitted. "I need to step up my game, and that means I'll be a bit busier from now on. I'm not welcome at your house any more, so Andrea and I will be getting an apartment."

"What will you do for money?" he asked. "Mom probably won't talk, but if word about you and Andrea gets back to the Port Authority, they might just find an excuse to let you go.". He grimaced. "She probably won't _support_ it, but she wouldn't stand in the way either, not with her beliefs."

I grimaced; losing the job at the Port Authority would hurt; it had provided me with useful, if irregular, income over the last two years. "They'd have to give me two months notice, if they did it at all," I told him. "After that … I think we'll manage. Don't worry about me. Really."

We stood up together; I leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, then gave him a little shove. "Go. I'll be in touch."

Side by side, they made their way down the Boardwalk. Danny glanced back once; Anne-Rose, not at all. I waved. I think he waved back.

* * *

Andrea and I turned and began walking in the other direction. We made it about three steps before Andrea's simmering anger exploded. "Those _bigots!"_ she burst out.

I'd been waiting for that; I knew Andrea's moods by now. She was friendly, happy, mercurial and intensely protective of me.

"It is what it is," I told her. "That's what people are like, these days. It _will_ get better." I frowned. "It'll hurt if I lose that job, though."

Andrea clung to me. "What _are_ we going to do for money?" she asked. "I have some saved up, and you have some yourself, but we're gonna run out sooner or later, if we have to depend on my pay." She got a stipend from her parents, and supplemented it with a part-time job at a local fast-food restaurant.

I held her close. "Do you believe I'm a time traveller?" I asked her softly.

She looked up at me, her green eyes huge. "I _want_ you to be a time traveller," she told me fiercely. "I _want _you to be as cool, and interesting, and amazing, as I think you are." She paused. "But how's that going to make us money?"

I grinned. "Just leave that to me."

After a moment, she nodded. "I'm glad you told us that … about yourself," she amended. "But why? Surely you could have made up some other story?"

I shook my head. "I'm tired of lying," I sighed. "Just once, I wanted someone to know who I was, to have someone I didn't have to keep remembering to lie to."

"You could have told Gladys," she reminded me doubtfully. "As it is, Anne-Rose and I have only known you for a month or so. And Anne-Rose isn't all that sure you _aren't_ crazy."

I nodded wearily. "Yeah, but … Gladys trusts me enough not to ask questions like that." I thought about it. "I might tell her anyway. Maybe. Later."

A chilly gust swept in across the Boardwalk. Even for Brockton Bay in winter, this was a cold day. Andrea shivered and snuggled up to me. "Can we go back to the College now? I'm getting cold."

I nodded. "Sure."

We set off, gloved hand in gloved hand. As we headed for the bus stop, Andrea looked up at me. "So you really want to get an apartment with me?"

I smiled down at her. "Really."

Her voice was playful. "So I'm not just your college fling?"

I tapped her gently on the tip of her nose with the tip of my finger. "Andrea, you were _never_ my college fling. You're far more important to me than that." I raised an eyebrow. "Am I yours?"

Her voice was thoughtful. "At first, yeah, just a bit. Now … not so much."

"Good to hear it."

* * *

We had walked a little way when I had a thought. "Andrea … "

"Yeah?"

"If I asked you to change your major to business management, could you? Would you?"

She stopped and stared up at me. "I guess I _could._ It wouldn't screw me around too much. Why?"

"I was just thinking … I'm going to need someone I can trust utterly to run my financial empire, once I get it up and running."

She blinked. "Financial empire? Where are you going to get a financial empire from?"

I grinned. "You'll see."

She grabbed my arm and squeezed it. "Tell me."

I shook my head playfully, still grinning. "Nuh uh."

She bounced up and down on her toes, like a kid begging for candy. "Tellll meeee …."

My grin was threatening to burst into a giggle. "Mmmmmnope."

"You are mean and horrible and I don't like you any more."

"I'll show you when we get back to the dorm."

Her mood changed instantly. "Okay." She grabbed me and pulled me down for a kiss. I let her; if I admitted it to myself, Andrea's kisses made our odd relationship somewhat more enjoyable.

"You're still mean and horrible," she told me, "but I'll put up with that."

I grinned. "And you've got the patience of a gerbil on speed, but I'll put up with that."

She giggled; I put my arm around her shoulders and she snuggled into me. We walked the rest of the way to the bus stop in companionable silence.

-ooo-

_We stood atop a cliff; far below, the green carpet of the jungle rippled and swayed to the unseen motions of the massive creatures within. Lisa finished strapping on a helmet, then turned to look at me. "Coming along?"_

_I was eyeing the jungle, and a familiar-looking stone tower that arose from it, not far from the cliff. In the distance, winged figures wheeled; I was fairly sure that they weren't birds._

_**I'm not so sure. I seem to recall you mentioning 'extreme hang-gliding' once upon a time.**_

_I paused. __**You do know that Andrea knows, right?**_

_Lisa nodded. "That's fine. She's coming to terms with it. Anne-Rose won't tell either."_

_**Right, right. Uh … you also know that I might be losing my job at the Port Authority soon.**_

_Lisa nodded again, thumbing shells into the magazine of a large shotgun. "Yeah, saw that coming."_

_I grunted. __**I didn't. Thought she might support me more than that.**_

_Lisa shrugged. "You told her you were straight, then you picked up a girlfriend in your first week of college. She can't help but see it as a betrayal of her trust."_

_I groaned. __**But I'm **_**not gay**_**.**_

"_I know that, and you know that, but all Dot knows is that you're holding hands with another girl in public."_

_**I didn't even mean to get involved with her! It was an accident!**_

_Lisa grinned, fox-like. "Yeah. I know."_

_I looked suspiciously at her. __**You set the whole thing up, didn't you?**_

"_Who, me?" she asked innocently. "Why, I'd have to be a master manipulator to do that."_

_**In other words, yes.**_

_She nodded, grinning. "Okay, now tell me you're not happy."_

_I sighed. __**Of course I'm happy. It's a little weird, but she's doing for me what I did for Brian. Only I'm more aware of it than he was.**_

"_Because you weren't as damaged as he was. And you're stronger. A lot stronger."_

_I nodded. __**If you say so. Anyway. Before you leap off this cliff to your certain doom -**_

_Lisa grinned and racked the slide on her shotgun. "Something's certain doom, anyway."_

_I snorted. __**Something like that, yeah. I just needed some information from you.**_

_Lisa nodded. "Thought you might." She reached into a thigh pocket and pulled out a mini tablet. "Here's what you want. Stock market and racing tips. This should build you a nice amount of money with which to incorporate your company."_

_I nodded. __**Though that's a little way in the future.**_

_She grinned and gave me a one-armed hug that made me nostalgic. "Three steps ahead, remember?"_

_I nodded. __**That's how you always used to play it.**_

_She snorted indelicately. "'Used to', hah! I never stopped, and you know it."_

_I grinned. __**Good point.**_

_She picked up the hang-glider, and I helped strap her into it. The shotgun went into a special holster that swung free from the frame. __**Ready?**_

_She nodded. "Kiss before you go?"_

_I kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood; the rising wind made me blink -_

-ooo-

I was reclining on my bed at the College; Andrea was just sitting down alongside me.

I smelt the sweet aroma of the cup of tea, just before she handed it to me. She helped me sit upright without spilling it. I sipped it; just the way I like it.

"So, what happens now?" she asked. "What was that all about?"

I grinned at her and handed her the pad that I had been holding in my other hand. On it was the information that had been on Lisa's mini-tablet.

She read it through, eyebrows elevating toward her hairline. "This is genuine?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Only one way to find out."

She went through the information again. "How did you … get this?"

I spread my hands. "Time traveller, remember?"

She frowned. "And you memorised every single movement of the stock market, every single winner of every single race, for the last twenty years? Just in _case?"_

I paused. "Not … exactly. But in a way, sure."

She bit her lip. "Isn't it kind of … cheating, to do it this way?"

Carefully, I put the cup down. Then I put my hands on her shoulders. "Andrea," I told her quietly. "I have seen death and devastation like you could never imagine. My friends, where I come from, are dead._All_ of them. Monsters walk the earth."

"Monsters?" she squeaked, her voice rising involuntarily.

I nodded. "Monsters. People with powers, who do unimaginably horrific things with them. And real, live, terrible monsters." I took a deep breath. "I intend to bring that to an end before it even begins. I will do _absolutely anything_ to get that done. I will lie, I will cheat and I will steal. I will _kill._ Winning money on a horse race by mildly dubious means is the very _least_ of what I'm willing to do, to achieve my ends."

She stared at me, green eyes wide. "You're serious," she whispered.

I nodded, unsure of how she would react. _Have I driven her away?_

She seemed to rally. "And me?" she asked. "Am I a part of this?"

I nodded, relief trickling through my gut. "Only if you want to be," I assured her. "But if you're in, you're in all the way. No holding back, no hesitation. I tell you what to do, you do it."

Slowly, she nodded. "I … can do that," she agreed.

"It'll be dangerous," I reminded her. "Once we get going, we will make enemies. Some of them will try to capture us, some will just try to kill us. I'll do my best to keep us safe, but … "

She nodded. "... but there are no guarantees. Got it."

I held up the pad. "There's instructions here for investing money in the stock market. Also, the best places to put bets on horse races. We follow those instructions, we should be able to make it work."

She smiled. "Okay, just one more thing."

I looked at her. "Oh?"

She pulled me close. "A kiss. For luck."

I snorted. "For luck. Sure." But I kissed her anyway. I'd heard of worse reasons.

-ooo-

_**You're getting better at modelling reindeer,**__ I noted. __**These ones don't all look the same.**_

_Lisa nodded, smugly. She twitched the reins, and the massive creatures hauling the sleigh increased their pace a little. Snow flew up from their hooves, and sprayed up from the runners, as we cantered through the pine forest._

_The cold wind of our passage turned my cheeks red and the tips of my ears numb; I whooped as Lisa expertly steered us around a large clump of trees, and on to a frozen lake._

_And then the ice beneath us began to crack; large white fissures spread out in all directions._

_**Uh, Lisa …**_

_Lisa shook out the reins and gave the deer their heads. They stretched out into a flat gallop, heavy sleigh and all. We pounded across the surface of the ice, ahead of a fantail of spreading cracks, the wind whistling past our ears. My fur hood fell back and my hair streamed out behind like a flag._

_When I glanced behind us, the ice was breaking up, the cracked chunks falling apart and showing black water between. But the reindeer were still pulling strongly; Lisa was whooping with joy as we sped across the deadly terrain. I joined in._

_And then we were off the ice once more; just as we gained the land, the runners of the sled dipped down just slightly at the back, as the ice gave way. But it was too late; we were safe on land once more. I could feel my heart beating rapidly, even though I knew we had never been in any real danger; Lisa had just been showing off._

* * *

_A short passage through the snowbound forest later, we pulled to a halt before a picture-perfect cottage. Snow lay heavy on the roof and lined the windowsills; icicles drooped from the eaves. Yellow lamplight issued from the windows, and I could see decorations in plenty, both inside and out._

_We jumped from the sleigh, the reindeer beginning to steam from the exertion of their run. Lisa did something to the front of the sled, and they were released from their harness; they trotted off to forage for feed._

_We entered the cottage. Inside was toasty warm; we shed our thick furs, hanging them on a rack provided._

_**Wow,**__ I murmured. A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, and there were several comfortable looking armchairs around the room, as well as a sofa. One corner held a small round table with several chairs; in another, a large Christmas tree groaned under the weight of the decorations and lollipops, bon-bons and small toys, that adorned its branches. Beneath those same spreading branches, presents large and small, carefully labelled, were stacked._

_**Those aren't all for me, are they?**__ I asked, indicating the presents. I had no idea what Lisa could 'give' me that I could use in the real world, but the thought that she would put in the effort gave me a warm feeling inside._

"_Not all of them, no," she told me, but didn't elaborate further. "Now, would you like some egg-nog? I believe I have some here."_

_So we sat on the sofa and drank thick, rich egg-nog, and talked about the old days. About my first meeting with the Undersiders, and how I had joined them._

_**So you knew from the beginning that I meant to turn you in, **__I commented._

_She nodded, grinning. "It was kind of obvious."_

_**So why did you? Invite me in, I mean? I mean, I chose not to betray you in the end, but I did mean to, at least for a while there.**_

_She put her arm around me and leaned into me. "It was a calculated risk, sure, but one I figured I could handle. Besides, it was all about you, then. You were trying to get yourself killed, and I didn't want to let that happen."_

_I nodded. __**Thanks for that, by the way.**_

_She chuckled. "What are friends for?"_

_**You know, looking back, it still doesn't **_**feel**_** like I was trying to get myself killed.**_

_She held up her mug to the light, as if she could see through the ceramic and the thick liquid within. "Well, there are such things as subconscious actions. Your life was one big horrible mess. You saw no way out, except to become a hero and go down in a blaze of glory. Even the Wards were not what you wanted. So … "_

_Cold chills chased themselves down my back, at how close it had come. __**Yeah. And you invited me in, and you were so friendly -**_

"_Hey," she admonished me playfully. "You needed a friend. But that doesn't mean I didn't like you from the beginning. You were so earnest, so naïve. And when you first saw Brian … " She giggled._

_I covered my confusion by taking a drink from my mug. __**Enough about Brian. I feel bad enough about breaking up with him when I did.**_

"_Not breaking up, not cutting ties, would have been worse for him, I think," Lisa told me. "But you came back to us, at the end. You were a part of us, when it mattered."_

_I leaned my head against hers. __**Thanks. That means a lot to me.**__ I paused. __**Um, is there any chance, do you think, of preventing … the big guy?**_

_Lisa shook her head, looking serious. "I can't see a way of either warning them or stopping Behemoth from emerging, without ending up squarely in Cauldron's crosshairs. We can't really stand that sort of attention, right now. So we fly under the radar and stick with the original plan."_

_I grimaced. __**So it's going to happen?**_

_She squeezed my shoulders. "Yeah. That bit's gonna happen. Sorry."_

_**Ugh.**__ I sat back and drank the rest of my egg-nog. __**Well, at least we're starting to set things in motion.**_

_Lisa nodded. "Yeah." Her head came up. "Oh hey, company."_

_I blinked. I'd been hearing crunching snow outside, but I had ascribed that to the reindeer. Now I looked out through the window, and I saw a huge creature move past, a giant lizard-dog thing that was achingly familiar._

_**Oh god.**__ I turned to Lisa. __**Oh god. You didn't. You did. How did you - ?**_

_A knock resounded on the door. I got up, took a step toward it, and froze. Lisa got up as well, and took my free hand. "Like you said," she told me simply. "I've been getting really good at modelling things. Like snow, and fire, and trees, and animals." She paused. "And people."_

_She towed me toward the door, and opened it._

_A tall figure stood there; he stepped forward and pushed back his hood. I looked into Brian's eyes._

"_Hey, Taylor," he greeted me familiarly. "How have you been?"_

* * *

_It was much later in the evening._

_Alec was passed out in one of the armchairs from a surfeit of egg-nog,and Aisha was stretched out on the sofa, playing with a toy from one of her presents; it seemed to consist of interlocked metallic rings. Rachel was sitting on the thickly-rugged floor of the cottage with a pup that Lisa had given her, teaching it commands, while Lisa and Brian and I sat around the table in the corner of the living room, talking about existential existence._

_I pointed at Lisa; my vision doubled slightly, and I blinked. __**Wow, that egg-nog is strong. I didn't know you could get dream in a drunk. I mean, drunk in a dream.**_

_Lisa smirked; Brian chuckled. I went on. __**Anyway. You two. Lisa, I'm not a hundred per cent sure that you're really the real Lisa I know. But, Brian, I know you **_**aren't.**

_Lisa shook her head. "But in a way, he is."_

_I frowned. __**How's that work again?**_

"_It's like this," Lisa told me. "I'm modelling him on what I remember of him – and if you recall, after my second trigger, I knew __**everything**__ – and I've set it up so that he'll act __**exactly**__ like the Brian you remember. And he 'remembers' everything that Brian did, about you and me, anyway."_

_**But it's not really him,**__ I told her stubbornly._

_She shrugged. "You're not the same person you were when you met him," she reminded me. "Cells have divided and died. You've had new experiences. Much of your body is different. But you're still 'you'."_

_"Let me try," suggested Brian._

_Lisa shrugged. "Be my guest."_

_Brian turned to me. "Imagine it's a Star Trek transporter. It's digitised me, frozen me, and just now reconstituted everything that's essentially me here and now."_

_I blinked, trying to process that. __**So you're 'kind of' Brian, then?**__ I ventured. __**Not the original, but close enough that it doesn't matter?**_

_Lisa nodded. "Just like the 'you' here in this dream is 'kind of' you."_

_**Huh.**__ I looked at Brian, and then turned to Lisa. Getting up, I took her in my arms, and held her close. __**Thank you,**__ I told her. __**Thank you for doing this. Even if you never do it again.**__ My eyes prickled, and I felt the tears start to flow._

_She put her arms around me. "That's all right. You needed this, I think."_

_The tears flowed faster, and I cried on her shoulder while she held me close and patted my back. Brian put his strong arms around us both. We rocked back and forth while I cried for what I had lost, what I would never see again; my friends, my family, the world that I had once known._

_When I was finished, Lisa gave me a tissue, and I wiped my eyes then blew my nose. Then I grabbed Brian._

_**Come here, you,**__ I told him, and kissed him._

_It was a __**good**__ kiss, one that sent a warm feeling from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Andrea was a good kisser, but this was the difference; this was what had been missing._

_Kissing Brian in real life had never had this effect on me; perhaps it was wish fulfilment, or maybe I was just more mature. It might have even been the egg-nog. In any case, by the end of the kiss, every nerve ending was buzzing and I was floating on air._

_**Wow,**__ I murmured. __**Wow.**__ I leaned against him – despite the fact that I was taller than I had been, he was still taller than me – to catch my breath._

_But then, Lisa put her hand on my shoulder. "You're about to wake up," she told me. "Sorry."_

_**Darn,**__ I muttered. I let go of Brian and hugged Lisa. __**This has been a really wonderful evening,**__ I told her. __**Thanks for doing this.**_

_She smiled. "It was my pleasure, really. Kiss before you go?"_

_I kissed her; it was just a platonic peck on the lips, next to what I had just done with Brian. Her lips tasted of dust and blood and egg-nog. Tears of happiness, of regret, stung my eyes; I blinked._

_Lisa and Brian spoke together. "Merry -"_

-ooo-

"- Christmas!"

I opened my eyes, to look up at Andrea. She was straddling me, on top of the covers, wearing a 'sexy Santa' outfit and a cheerful expression.

Reaching up, I grabbed her and pulled her down to my level. She yelped once, then accepted the situation, snuggling up next to me.

"Merry Christmas, girlfriend," I whispered to her, and kissed her, then held her close.

"Wow," she murmured with a giggle. "I should wake you up like that more often."

"It's a special day," I told her. "You're a special person."

She made no answer to that, merely wriggling under the covers with me and holding me closer. I noted that she made no attempt to grope me or kiss me without permission; since our first morning, she had been punctilious about following the rules.

Relaxing in her arms, I smiled. _That was a really nice thing that Lisa did. _Unlike an ordinary dream, the memory of Lisa's Christmas party was not fading away; I treasured every moment of it. Even though I knew quite well that it hadn't really happened, on one level it had, and I had enjoyed it immensely.

My smile widened as I recalled that last kiss with Brian, and how it had set every nerve ending afire. _Maybe I should have sneaked upstairs with him, _I thought with a silent giggle. _But then, that might have gotten a little weird._ I still didn't know exactly _how_ Lisa's imaginary worlds worked, and I didn't want to put something like that on her.

"What's funny?" murmured Andrea, right next to my ear, her breath warm on my skin.

"Nothing," I murmured back, enjoying the feeling of closeness, of companionship. As much as Andrea understood me and my moods, I did not know how she would react if I tried to tell her about Lisa and her memory palace and many dreamworlds. Pushing the covers back, I sat up. "Shall we get up? There's presents to open and furniture to assemble."

* * *

We had acquired the apartment just before Christmas Break started. Lisa's money-making tips had come in immensely handy; the bond payment and other expenses had gone from being a potentially ruinous expense to more or less pocket change. On Lisa's advice, we had taken certain steps designed to ensure that while our winnings would be taxed, they would not show up as directly belonging to a couple of previously-poor college students.

In time, we would contact the Number Man to handle our assets; right now, mainly to avoid coming to Cauldron's notice too early, we would refrain from that step.

Of course, Andrea knew nothing about Cauldron or the Number Man, and she would continue to know nothing. It was for her safety. I had gotten her into this, and I didn't want her getting hurt because of me.

* * *

In a slightly bizarre reflection of a distant memory, most of our furniture had arrived flat-packed, and we were apparently expected to assemble it ourselves. I recalled doing this exact thing with Brian, on the day that I had first met Aisha. It seemed to me that I had been so young then; that was before I had turned sixteen. His presence had so overpowered me that at one point he'd had to remind me to breathe. That was, of course, before Leviathan, before the Nine, before Dragon, before I had shot Coil, before Echidna ... so much I had been through. So much adversity. Perhaps it had toughened me, strengthened me.

In any case, I was able to perform the same job with Andrea at her flirtiest and most playful without feeling the slightest bit awkward; even the amazingly dirty jokes that she told me did nothing more than make me laugh. There _was_ one way she knew how to make me blush, but that way only worked in company.

Frank and Gladys arrived at around midday; they pitched in, so that when Danny and Anne-Rose arrived at one, even the big dining table was on its legs and looking good.

Along with Anne-Rose, Danny brought a surprise guest. I had seen Nina off and on over the last two years, but not regularly, and I hadn't been sure that she was still in town.

"My goodness, Taylor!" she exclaimed as we hugged tightly. "You've grown! _And _put on muscle!"

I smiled at her. "You haven't changed a bit," I told her. "How have you been?"

"Doing well, doing well," she assured me. She looked around at the apartment. "You've done well for yourself."

I nodded and smiled. "Have you met Andrea?" I asked. "Andrea, I think I told you about Nina. Nina Veder, Andrea Campbell. Andrea, meet the coolest psychologist and part-time ship's doctor in Brockton Bay."

Nina shook Andrea's hand with a smile. "Any friend of Taylor's is a friend of mine." She glanced from Andrea to me and back again. "Now, that's interesting."

"What's interesting?" asked Andrea.

"I've been getting chapter and verse from Dorothy Hebert about how Taylor's 'fallen into wickedness'," Nina explained cheerfully. "Danny's told me about how you two are in a relationship. But … "

I rolled my eyes. "Don't tell me. You're the only damn person in Brockton Bay who can tell that I'm _not_ a lesbian, without me having to explain the point carefully for five minutes first? With diagrams?"

Nina grinned. "You forget. I live with two lesbians."

Andrea looked at her with interest.

"She's straight," I explained hastily.

"So are you," Andrea replied cheerfully.

Nina shook her head, with a smile. "Not interested," she forestalled Andrea. "I've already had all the offers. I _do_ know what I'm missing, and I'm happy with what I've got."

Andrea pouted momentarily, then grinned at Nina. "Okay, fine," she conceded. "But I bet you haven't heard _how_ Taylor and I got together."

"Actually," Nina agreed, "I haven't."

Andrea turned to me. "Can I tell her? Please please please?"

I sighed. "Sure, go ahead. Everyone else knows about it."

"Are you sure?" Andrea asked. "I know how much it embarrasses you."

I hugged her. "It should embarrass you too, but as we've both discovered, _nothing_ embarrasses you for more than a minute."

She giggled. "Darn tootin'."

As I left, I heard her begin the tale. "The first time I met Taylor, I kissed her because I thought she was Anne-Rose ..."

In the kitchen, I checked on the soda. It was still chilling nicely, so I decided to leave it another half hour. While I was there, I poured myself a glass of cold water.

As I was drinking it, Anne-Rose entered the kitchen. "Oh, there you are," she greeted me cheerfully. "This is a nice place you have here. And I'm really enjoying the party."

I smiled at her. "You and Danny look good together," I told her truthfully.

She nodded, with a sly grin. "He's talking about getting that Engineering degree. That means we can spend even more time together on campus."

"That's excellent," I told her. "I'm happy for you."

"And I thought about what you said about changing my major," she added thoughtfully. "It's Mom and Dad who've been pressuring me to read law. I'm not sure it's my thing. But I don't know what I really want to do."

I kept my face impassive. "Do whatever makes you comfortable with yourself," I advised her. "You know he'll back you up."

Her smile lit up her whole face. "Yes. I know." She opened her arms and hugged me. Slightly surprised, I returned the embrace. "Thank you," she told me. "Thank you for introducing me to Danny."

I couldn't help smiling myself. "Hey, I had my reasons, right?" I replied. "I'm just glad you're happy."

She nodded. "Well, for whatever reason you did it, I'm glad. Thank you."

I shrugged. "That's okay. I was just getting a drink of water. Want one?"

Just about then, Gladys strolled into the kitchen. "Ah, here's where you are. You know Andrea's telling the story again, don't you?"

I nodded. "Nina hasn't heard it yet. And she tells it better than I do."

She grinned. "I've seen you turn bright red when Andrea tells it."

Anne-Rose giggled. "I've seen people fall off their chairs laughing when _Taylor_ tells it."

I could feel the blush starting already, so to change the subject, I held up the cold water bottle. "Anyone want one? Or should I just pour it over your heads?"

They laughed and fetched cups; I poured water. "So how are you and Frank going, Gladys?"

"Thanks. Oh, we're doing fine. Frank doesn't know that I know it, but he's got a ring picked out. I overheard him telling Danny that he's gonna ask me to marry him when I graduate."

Anne-Rose squealed and grabbed her in a hug. I joined in, because I was happy for them both.

"That's great," I told her. "Frank's an awesome guy."

"And he'd still be fumbling over his own feet about asking me out if you hadn't put him right," Gladys observed accurately. _"And_ made sure I was primed to say yes."

Anne-Rose blinked. _"Taylor_ got you two together?"

Gladys nodded earnestly. "She was very sure about it."

"Huh," commented Anne-Rose, looking at me thoughtfully. "Isn't that interesting."

"What's interesting?" asked Gladys curiously. "That she got the both of us together?" She raised her cup of water – miraculously unspilt – to me in a toast. "A regular matchmaker, our Taylor. Along with her many other talents."

I cleared my throat uncomfortably. "Uh, Gladys, there's something that I need to tell you. That I should have told you before now. Come on, let's go out on the balcony."

"Why not here?" she asked.

I shook my head. "Someone might walk in. Let's talk on the balcony."

" … okay," she agreed. "The balcony it is."

_Good old Gladys. She never argues. Never questions a direct decision._

We exited the kitchen, and were heading for the balcony when I heard a knock on the front door. Curious, I diverted to answer it. _Who would this be? _As far as I knew, everyone I expected to arrive was already there.

Danny got there first; he opened the door, then stopped. I moved up behind him, and stopped also. I recognised the visitor, of course; I just had no idea why he was there.

"Well?" he demanded. "Am I welcome to come in?"

I spoke first. "Uh, sure. Come on in. I'm just wondering _why _you're here."

Danny and I stepped aside to allow the latest guest to enter, and Danny finally found his voice.

"Oh, uh, hi, Dad."

* * *

Mercifully, Andrea had finished telling Nina the story; the aforementioned Ms Veder couldn't seem to keep a smirk off of her face. As George Hebert entered, all eyes turned toward him.

"I won't be staying long," he told us bluntly. "But young Taylor was a member of my household for some years, and so I believe she is owed this courtesy."

"I remember you!" Andrea burst out. "You're Danny's father. I met you when Taylor was moving in."

He nodded once, eyeing her abbreviated Santa outfit, with the matching red tights, which she had donned when Frank and Gladys arrived. "You were dressed scandalously then, and I see you have not changed your ways since."

She blinked, then glanced at me; I shook my head fractionally.

George turned to me. "I do not share Mrs Hebert's views on your situation. Nor -" with another side glance at Andrea, " - do I consider it an entirely wholesome one, but I am of the opinion that once one's bed is made, one lies in it."

I nodded. "Thanks, George. Uh, just so you know, my grades are pretty good. In case you thought she was, uh, distracting me."

He nodded slowly, conceding the point. "Just know that if you should ever want to come home, your room will always be free. With one condition, of course. Mrs Hebert would insist upon it." His eyes cut sideways to Andrea once more; the meaning was clear.

I kept my voice firm. "Thank you, George. I appreciate it, but as you can see, I _am_ home. Andrea and I signed the lease on this place last week."

He frowned. "Are you sure that you can afford a place like this? Your job at the Port Authority -"

I nodded. "I know about that. It's all good. We can afford it."

"Hmph." Though obviously curious, he changed the subject. "Very well. I understand that you are responsible for Danny meeting Annette."

I blinked, then realised that he meant Anne-Rose. _Only he would use just her first name._

"Uh, yeah. I introduced them and they basically hit it off."

He turned to look at Anne-Rose and then back to me. "My memory was not deceiving me. You two _do_ look remarkably alike."

I shrugged. "You know how it is. They say everyone has a double somewhere."

"I believe they may be distant cousins," Nina Veder suggested. "She once told me that she recalled that her grandparents live, or lived, in Brockton Bay."

George nodded stolidly. "That would make a certain amount of sense," he agreed. "Someone who did not know you well could easily mistake one for the other."

I glanced at Andrea and raised an eyebrow; she coloured slightly, then poked her tongue out at me.

George didn't seem to notice. "If you will excuse me, I need to talk to Danny."

I nodded. "Sure. Thanks for turning up. I appreciate it."

He moved off, and I caught Gladys' eye; we headed for the balcony once more.

* * *

"Wow!" she muttered as I slid the glass doors shut. "That man does not do tact, does he?"

I shrugged. "I suspect that he's never seen the need."

Just then, the glass doors slid open again, and Andrea joined us on the balcony.

"Is it just me, or did he just insult both of us in front of everyone?" she demanded.

I hugged her; unusually for her sunny temperament, she was stiff as a board. Gradually, as I held her, she relaxed.

"Hey," I murmured. "He's like that." I grinned. "Get Danny to repeat his speech about how if he caught Danny sniffing around after me, he'd throw me out on the street."

"Sniffing?" she repeated. "Are you serious?"

"The exact word," I assured her. "He's a Christian, and serious about it. The fact that he's even turned up here is evidence that he still thinks I'm not beyond redemption."

"Wow, really? Redemption?" asked Andrea. "There's people who still think like that?"

Gladys nodded. "Hell yes. You should meet his wife. Lovely old lady, full of Christian charity, but will not abide gays. Simply won't even go there."

"On second thought," I ventured. "Maybe you shouldn't."

"Hm, yeah," Gladys agreed. "Anyway, Taylor. You said there was something you needed to tell me out here. We're out here. What was so important?"

In the silence that followed, I became suddenly aware of Andrea, watching Gladys' face, getting ready for the first reaction of surprise.

I took a deep breath. "You're my best friend. I should have told you this earlier. You know the amnesia I've always said I had? It's not true. I'm actually a time traveller."

Gladys' expression did not change; she looked at me, then at Andrea, then back at me.

" … yeah, thought it was something like that," she commented at last. "Future, right?"

* * *

Andrea's jaw dropped in pure astonishment. Mine wasn't far behind.

"You – what – how - " I gasped.

"Lots of little clues," Gladys explained. "The whole 'pulled out of the ocean' thing was a big giveaway. No identification, no relatives looking for you. You speak subtly differently to everyone around you – well, now you don't, but two years ago, you did. You use different slang, but you know the layout of the city. And to anyone who really watches you at classwork, at ROTC, it's obvious that you've been through hell already, and you're preparing for it all over again. Plus, there's your choice of classes." She shrugged. "Simple, when you know what to look for."

"Holy shit," I managed. "When did you figure it out? Who else knows?"

She chuckled and shook her head. "I knew there was something strange going on, but I never actually connected all the dots until you told me, just now. And there's no-one who's spent as much time with you over the last two years, especially in stressful situations, as I have." She glanced at Andrea.

"She already knows," I hastened to assure her. "Also, Danny and Anne-Rose. I told them a little while ago. I just needed to tell you."

She smiled. "Well, thanks for letting me in on it." Tilting her head toward the interior of the apartment, she asked, "So, does Nina know?"

I took a deep breath. "I haven't told her. But that doesn't mean that she hasn't figured it out on her own. She's very, very sharp." I looked at her. "Does Frank know?"

She looked steadily back at me. "Do you think he needs to know?"

I paused. "You're going to be married to the guy. Do _you_ think he does?"

She took a deep breath. "I … no, I don't. Unless it's actually life-threatening or whatever … no." She gave me a pleading look. "But if I ever decide that it's absolutely imperative that he knows – can I tell him?"

I grimaced. "Let me know that you're doing it, beforehand if possible, afterwards if not, okay? And let me know what he thinks about it." Implicit was the observation that I trusted her judgement. We hadn't gone through two years of JROTC together without learning to trust one another.

She nodded, once, curtly. "Will do."

I smiled. That was her field persona kicking in; efficient, concise, to the point. I hugged her; she returned it. "Thanks."

Andrea was looking from one of us to the other. "I got a question," she observed.

I turned to her, grinning. "Shoot."

"How come you two never got together? I mean, seriously."

I chuckled. "We _are_ straight, you know."

Andrea shrugged. "So? You two could be _so_ easily gay for each other."

Gladys cleared her throat. "When I was in high school, I got bullied by girls who accused me of being gay. Taylor rescued me. Ever since then, if I even had a passing thought about another girl, even about Taylor, I shut it down hard. The memories of what they called me were too painful. I had to prove them wrong."

"So you _could_ be gay," Andrea pointed out.

Gladys smiled and shook her head. "Nope. No repressed yearnings, here."

"Have you _tried_ it?" pressed Andrea.

I rolled my eyes. "Seriously? Are you gonna try to turn _all_ of my friends?"

"No, just the nice ones," Andrea returned with a giggle.

Gladys sighed. "I can see you're not going to let this go. Taylor, hold still."

I held still. Gladys leaned up and deliberately kissed me. Her lips were warm on mine; she wasn't as good a kisser as Andrea, and it sure as hell didn't give me the same sparks as the dream-kiss from the dream-Brian. It was nice, sure, but not fantastic.

The kiss ended; Gladys pulled back, her eyes thoughtful.

"Well?" demanded Andrea.

Gladys shrugged. "Nope. Still straight." She smiled. "Though it was nice to make sure."

"Maybe you should try with me," challenged Andrea.

Gladys shook her head. "I'll pass. I called your bluff and kissed Taylor. No result. I'm _not interested_ in girls. Okay?"

Andrea grinned. "Okay. You win."

"I'm kind of glad we don't have a thing for each other," I mused. "It would have made our field exercises a bit more stressful. Out on our own, with no-one to watch us … "

Andrea burst out laughing; Gladys grinned. "That _could_ have made it harder for us to kick their asses," she agreed.

The glass doors slid open again, and Nina joined us on the balcony. It wasn't all that large; with the four of us there, it was just a little crowded.

"Well, this party is starting to look interesting," she observed. "Or did I _not_ see Taylor kissing Gladys, just now?" She looked from one to the other of us, amusement on her face. "Is there something that I need to know?"

* * *

Gladys blushed; I came to her rescue. "No," I told Nina. "Andrea was of the opinion that Gladys and I should be a couple, given how close we are. Gladys proved that we weren't."

Nina nodded. "An understandable concept," she agreed. "And brave of you, Gladys, for taking that step." She tilted her head to one side. "What would you have done if you'd discovered that you _were_attracted to Taylor?"

Gladys went blank. "I … I have absolutely no idea," she confessed.

We all burst out laughing; Gladys joined in a moment later. "It _would've_ been a bit awkward, wouldn't it?" she observed. "I mean, I love Frank, and I also love Taylor, but in a different way."

Nina nodded. "I'm sure you would have worked something out."

Andrea smirked. "I'm sure I could've helped."

I put my arms around her from behind and took her in a mock headlock. "I'm sure you would have just _hated_ that," I chided her.

She turned around in my arms and snuggled up to me. "Yup," she grinned up at me. "Kiss?"

I kissed her; Gladys and Nina watched with interest.

"Well, I'm gonna get back to the party, before Frank decides I've been kidnapped for a lesbian orgy," declared Gladys.

"See you in there," I agreed; she opened the sliding door and slipped inside.

"I have to admit," I mused, "for a party with only one lesbian in attendance, there's an awful lot of girls kissing each other."

Andrea looked up at me. "And what's wrong with that?" she demanded.

"Nothing, nothing," I reassured her. "Just making the comment."

"If you two want your privacy … " offered Nina.

I made my mind up. "Wait. There _is_ something you need to know."

She stopped in the act of reaching for the door. "Yes?" she asked.

I cleared my throat. "It's about me. Where I came from. Where I was, before I got pulled out of the water."

"You've remembered?" she asked quietly.

"More like I never forgot," I told her. "I'm sorry; I've been lying to you all this time."

She nodded slowly. "So I surmised. I have some theories as to why. I'd be interested as to which one is true."

"Oh, you've got to be shitting me!" burst out Andrea. "You _figured it out?"_

Nina glanced down at her, smiling slightly. "You forget, Andrea, that I've known Taylor more or less since the minute that she was pulled out of the water."

"So tell me your theories," I suggested.

Nina nodded again. "There are several permutations, but they boil down to three options. You've travelled in time, or you've travelled between alternate worlds, or you've done both."

* * *

Andrea's jaw dropped; I spoke up. "So … you've pretty well ruled out a more mundane explanation?"

She nodded. "I've done some checking. You're not showing up on any database, anywhere. Your scars and injuries, such as that plug of aluminum in your shoulder, they don't match with anything I can find anywhere. So you're a child soldier from a war I never heard of, who somehow ended up knowing all about Brockton Bay, or … " She trailed off. "My personal preference is time traveller from the future. A dark future."

I shook my head. "Christ. How many other people have you told?"

She grinned tightly. "What do you take me for? I'm it."

I nodded. "Well, you're essentially correct. There's a dark future coming. I'm trying to prepare for it. Build resources. I have plans, but you'll understand if I don't tell you everything up front."

She nodded. "I understand. Is there anything I can do to help?"

I hugged her; it was so like her, to simply offer, just like that. "Not right this second, but if I ever do need your help … "

She hugged me back. "All you have to do is ask. You know that."

I kissed her on the cheek. "Thanks. I appreciate what you've done for me. More than you can know."

She held me at arms' length. "You've made something of yourself, Taylor. I only gave you a hand-up. I look forward to seeing what you do in the future."

I smiled wanly. "I can only hope that it's more than I managed the last time around."

She looked interested. "Care to share details?"

I shook my head slowly. "Not right now." I indicated the glass doors, and the people within. "Right now, we have a party to have fun at."

She inclined her head. "Indeed. Let's go do that thing."

We slid the glass doors open; with one arm through Nina's, and the other through Andrea's, I went back to the party.

-ooo-

Hours had passed. George had made his excuses and left; I had hugged him goodbye, to his gruff protestations. I noticed, however, that he didn't stop me.

The soda had come out, along with alcohol that Andrea had smuggled into the apartment; Danny and Frank had also brought some along as well. I asked if anyone knew how to make egg-nog; Nina declared that she knew a recipe. So we made a large quantity of egg-nog, and it made the rounds as well.

I was cautious with the drinking, recalling the last disastrous foray I had made into that world. Andrea reminded me that no-one was spiking my drink this time; I was still careful. I didn't like feeling that helpless, that far out of control.

I took a moment to look around, as we sat on the chairs and sofa that Andrea and I had purchased for the apartment. My friends, all the real friends I had in the world, were gathered with me to celebrate this day. They weren't the Undersiders; my father wasn't my father. I was struck with a burst of nostalgia, back to the dream-party that Lisa had hosted for me, and farther, two years and more, when I had been with Lisa and the others in their base.

We had been younger then, with bright dreams, unaware of just how fast the world was sliding into ruin. I had lost everything since then, and had been cast up here, in a Brockton Bay not my own. I'd had to start fresh, with no powers, dependent on the charity of strangers. The future lay spread out before me.

That I could change things, with the help of my friends, with Lisa's invaluable assistance, I was sure of. Whether the changes would be for the better … _that_ remained to be seen.

"Hey." I looked up, it was Andrea's voice.

"Hm?"

She leaned in and kissed me, her lips tasting of egg-nog. I was reminded of the last kiss from Lisa. "No brooding now. It's Christmas. Let's be happy."

I smiled and kissed her back. "Of course it is." Getting up, I went to the stereo. We'd been playing background music during Christmas dinner, soft and low, not loud enough to disrupt conversation. Now, I changed out the cassette for a different one.

"Everyone!" I called out. "Time for some Christmas songs!"

They all sat up, except for Danny, who was sprawled on the sofa with Anne-Rose draped over him; she was apparently feeding him popcorn with her lips. I clapped my hands; this time, they sat up as well.

"Are we ready?" I pressed Play, then went back to sit with Andrea.

The songs were ones we all knew; Jingle Bells, Silent Night, and so on. We sang loudly and with great enthusiasm, though not always in tune. Andrea squeezed my hand tightly while she sang; I put my arms around her.

And then the next song came on.

"_Should auld acquaintance be forgot, and never brought to mind …."_

As the song went on, a lump grew in my throat. Tears stung my eyes, overflowed, blurred my vision. I could not see clearly, and it seemed that there were more people in the apartment than there had been a moment ago.

"_We'll take a cup of kindness yet, for the days of auld lang syne … "_

I could not swear to it, but it seemed to me that my friends of old moved among the guests at my party.

"_Here's a hand, my trusty friend, now gie's a hand o' thine … "_

They smiled at me and raised their glasses in a toast as the song moved to its conclusion.

" … _for the days of auld lang syne … "_

Tears were streaming down my face; Andrea held me tightly.

I had no idea what the future held, but I knew that this would be our last good Christmas; our last good year. Before the next year was out, everything would be changed, irrevocably. With Behemoth in the world, the death and destruction would begin.

I stood; Andrea stood with me. As the tears cleared from my eyes, my old friends wavered and disappeared. I raised my glass to them anyway, toasting them silently.

Everyone looked at me expectantly. I cleared my throat.

"A toast," I told them. "To us."

"To us," they echoed.

"To the future."

"To the future."

I took a deep breath. "God bless us, every one."

As they echoed the last part, I sat down.

_Because we're sure as hell going to need it._

* * *

End of Part 2-3


	14. Chapter 14

**/o\**

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 2-4: The Light at the End of the Tunnel is an Oncoming Train

* * *

**January 1992**

"So how are we going to do this?" asked Andrea cheerfully.

I swallowed the bite of cheeseburger I had just taken, and looked at her. "Do what?"

She waved her hands vaguely. "You know, save the world."

I paused. "Ah." I belatedly recalled that I had not given Andrea many details. In fact, I hadn't given _anyone_ many details.

Though, ironically, I _was_ regularly giving Andrea details – passed on from Lisa – about how the stock market was going to react, and which horses were likely to win in which races. Our war chest was growing in leaps and bounds.

She was looking at me a little quizzically. "'Ah'? That's not very informative."

I nodded. "I know." Glancing around at the McDonalds restaurant, I finished off my cheeseburger and chucked the remains of my shake in the bin. "Let's get out of here. What I've got to say isn't for casual eavesdroppers."

"Okay!" she agreed enthusiastically, and bounced out of her seat. She was always so enthusiastic, so bouncy. It was hard not to like her.

She hummed the _Mission Impossible_ theme all the way out to the car. It was so adorably dorky that I couldn't help but laugh.

"So," she began, once we were out of the parking lot, "is this where you swear me to silence?"

"No point," I told her. "If you're gonna keep it secret, then you'll keep it secret no matter what I say. If you're gonna tell people, then the same thing applies. All I can do is ask you not to spread it around."

She nodded. "Okay, got it. Secret agent stuff. What's the first thing you were going to tell me?"

I took a deep breath. "Saving the world really isn't … saving the world. I just want to … head off some bad stuff. Stop some really big menaces." I sighed. "And, yeah, eventually save the world."

She tilted her head, glancing at me before putting her eyes back on the road. "Eventually?"

I grimaced; there was no way around it. "Andrea, this isn't going to be a quick job. I'm going to be at this for years. _Decades."_

She stared at me so hard she must have jerked the wheel, because the car swerved slightly. "Road!" I warned her, just as the guy in the car behind honked his horn; she had taken her foot off of the accelerator, and we were slowing down.

"We need to talk about this when we're not in the car," she decided, once we were back in the flow of traffic. "If you're gonna be dropping bombs like that on me, I definitely need to not be driving."

I nodded. "Yeah. Home?"

She grinned in reply. "Home."

* * *

Back in the apartment, we took our time getting comfortable on the bed. I was wedged up in the corner of the room with a pillow behind me, while Andrea lay back in the other direction, with her feet on my lap. She liked me to rub them, and I didn't mind; her feet were so delicate and cute.

Occasionally, she rubbed my feet when I asked, like after a gruelling ROTC exercise. Or she gave me a back massage, which was also nice. She didn't mind doing either one for me; it was how she'd gotten past my defenses that first time, after all.

"So when you say 'decades', you're not using a figure of speech, are you?" she commented perceptively.

I shook my head, cupping the balls of her foot in my hand. Slowly, I began to massage, the way she liked it. "No. I'm figuring twenty years as a rough ballpark."

"Why so long?" she asked. "Why can't we just locate whoever's gonna be causing the problem and just … I dunno, deal with it pre-emptively?"

"I wish we could," I admitted. "But I've been over all of this dozens of times, and it just won't work if I charge in like a battering ram. Plus, some of the problems are something I can't fix on my own. And some of the people I need help from haven't been born yet."

She raised her head to stare at me. "That might be the single strangest thing anyone has said to me while rubbing my feet."

I grinned back at her, and started on her other foot. She stretched out and sighed, enjoying the attention. After a while, she rolled over and started massaging one of my feet in return. This was one of the things we did. It made our odd relationship work.

"Things are going to get worse before they get better," I warned her, squeezing hard on the balls of her feet with my thumbs. "In December, something's going to happen. Something bad. I need to be ready. I need to be graduated by Christmas."

"Something bad, here in America?" she asked, massaging my Achilles tendon.

I shook my head. "No. Overseas. But it will affect everyone, everywhere, eventually. I can't tell you what or why, not right now. Just that it's a really, really bad thing." I bit my lip. "Bad enough that I might actually risk warning the heroes beforehand."

"If you do that, will it change matters?" she asked seriously. "Ooh, that tickles."

I tickled her again, just for fun; she wriggled, but didn't protest. Then I got serious again. "Probably not," I admitted. "What happens … it's a huge shock to everyone, everywhere. Especially after they realise the implications."

"Which are?" she asked quietly.

I stopped massaging her foot, and held out my hand to her. She took it, allowing me to pull her around so that she lay partly across my body. I held her close. "No-one's safe," I told her softly. "Anywhere. It will keep recurring. People will die. Thousands of people at a time. Normal people and parahumans too." I clenched my eyes shut, recalling the utter devastation of Behemoth's attack on New Delhi. Hot tears leaked out between the lids. "Too many people," I whispered.

Her arms went around me, and she embraced me as hard as she knew how.

"I'm here, Taylor," she told me. "I'll help. Any way you need me to."

I buried my face in her hair, and let her nearness comfort me. _I know. And you have no idea how grateful I am._

-ooo-

**February 1992**

"So when you said you needed to be graduated by Christmas, you weren't joking," Andrea observed, eyeing the stack of books I had just deposited on my study desk.

"No," I agreed, "I was not. Like I told you, the thing that happens causes a massive reaction. One of those reactions is that the Protectorate becomes a government parahuman team, and recruits other capes as well."

"Capes?" She paused for a second. "Oh, costumed superheroes." She gestured to her back. "Because they wear capes."

I nodded. "It's what they end up calling them, in a few years." I paused, because she was looking at me questioningly. "What?"

"What's that bit got to do with you?" she asked. "Are you going to offer your powers to help out?"

"I don't have powers," I told her reflexively.

She shook her head, chuckling gently. "The hell you don't, girlfriend. Those aren't guesses you're writing down, every week."

I took a deep breath. "I … that's not a power, exactly. I … I'm getting help from … a friend."

She tilted her head. "I'd like to meet this friend of yours. He or she seems to know an awful lot."

"She did," I told her dully. "But she's dead. She died three years ago, and nineteen years in the future."

There was a long pause, as she worked this out. "Just before you came back," she eventually realised.

I nodded. "She was my best friend. Saved my life more than once. But … she died. When all this happened." I bowed my head, closing my eyes. Andrea's arms went around me, comforting, holding me close to her.

She held me while I cried.

* * *

A little while later, we lay side by side on the bed. My eyes were still red, but I wasn't sniffling any more. Andrea brushed my hair out of my face, and kissed me gently. "Feeling better?"

I nodded. "Thanks," I whispered. "Thank you for being here."

She nodded brightly. "All part of the girlfriend service. So, you were telling me about your friend."

I grinned ruefully. I'd found out the hard way exactly how persistent Andrea could be. And I _did_ want to talk to someone about it.

"Her name was Lisa ..." I began.

-ooo-

**April 1992**

"Wait, wait, you really studied all the way through spring break?" asked Gladys. "I thought you were joking about that!"

I shook my head as I slid the magazine into the pistol. Making sure my ear protectors were firmly in place, I hit the button to run the target away downrange.

"No," I told her, raising my voice so as to be heard through the protectors. "There's stuff I need to be ready for."

Gladys ran her own target downrange as well, and readied her pistol. "Such as?"

I raised my hand to get the range captain's attention; he walked over, checked us out, and nodded. A buzzer sounded, to warn people that we would be opening fire at any moment.

"Everything," I told her, then lined my pistol and squeezed off the first shot.

Beside me, Gladys also fired. We both hit the ten-ring, shot after shot; repeated practice had done that for us. But just as she was better with a rifle, I was better with a pistol; by the time our magazines were empty, I had put more rounds through the X-ring than she had.

I safed my pistol and placed it on the bench in front of me; Gladys did the same. We ran the targets back up to where we stood, and plucked them from the clips.

"Nice," observed Gladys, tapping the cluster of bullet-holes on my target. "I'm gonna need to up my game if I'm going to get the pistol trophy off you this year."

I made a rude noise with my lips. "As if. You're already a shoo-in for the rifle trophy, and you're likely to take boxing as well. I'll keep pistol, thanks."

We grinned at each other; when I had first met Gladys, she had been shy, uncertain and timid. Now, she was assertive and aggressive when she needed to be, and _no-one_ shot against her for money. There was a reason she was captain of the rifle team.

But with all that, she was still a really nice person to be around, and still my best friend; Andrea understood that, and also that there was nothing between us but friendship. For Gladys' part, she had taken my relationship with Andrea on board with equanimity, and her own relationship with Franklin was getting along just fine.

I still kept in touch with Danny – he had started attending for his engineering degree, though still living at home – and Anne-Rose, although I saw them less often than I would have liked. Danny rarely referred to the revelation I had handed them in December; Anne-Rose, not at all. This didn't surprise me all that much. In other news, Anne-Rose had apparently been given 'my' room in the Hebert house when she stayed over, and was an established part of Danny's life.

Which suited me fine. I just wanted them to have a good life.

* * *

"So when you mean 'everything'," she commented, as we exited the firing range, "you mean ..."

"Just that," I told her. "Everything. Like I told you in December, there's a lot of shit approaching the human race at speed, and I need to be prepared to be in the right place at the right time."

"So you can stop it?" she asked, unlocking the door to her car.

"So I can help divert it. Eventually," I replied.

"And how's that going?" she asked.

I grimaced. "Not so great. I've sounded out my professors about accelerating my course load, and while some of them are of the opinion that if I can handle the pressure, they can help me along ..."

" … not all of them are of that opinion?" she guessed.

I nodded. "Yeah. One of them in particular."

"So what are you gonna do?"

A sigh. "Study harder. Prove to him that I can take it."

She eyed me carefully. "_Can _you take it?"

Another grimace. "Gonna have to, aren't I?"

-ooo-

**June 1992**

I grunted in pain, my face pressed into the mattress. Andrea held me down, mercilessly digging her thumbs into my back and shoulders. It felt for all the world as though she was trying to dig out my spine with her bare fingers, and succeeding.

And then something _popped_, and I felt a release of tension that I hadn't known was there. The relief was palpable, and I gasped out loud.

"One down," Andrea stated with satisfaction. "Many more to go. Taylor, half your back is a solid mass of knots. You're pushing yourself too hard."

"I've got to be ready," I told her stubbornly. "Once college lets back in, I've got four months to go, and Professor Kingsley's being stubborn about letting me graduate early in Criminology. I can pass the class, I _know_ I can."

"Yeah, but what use will it be to you if you're half-blind from studying in poor light, hunchbacked from too many tension knots in your back, and neurotic from pushing yourself too hard, too fast?"

I tried not to think about the excellent logic in her argument. "Andrea, I -"

There was another _pop_, and I gasped again. "Oh god, that was amazing."

"I bet you tell that to all the girls," she replied; I could _hear_ the wicked grin in her voice.

Which brought to mind our odd relationship. Andrea and I had met on my first day of college, and through a very odd series of developments, had ended up … together. Sort of.

Andrea, I learned very early on, was bisexual, although she much preferred girls. I considered myself straight, but I was open minded enough – especially for the time in which I found myself - that the thought of kissing another girl was acceptable to me; I could even appreciate the experience, on an aesthetic level. Maybe it was all the times I'd kissed Lisa goodbye …

… _wait a moment._

Lisa had died in my arms, back in New Delhi, after the Behemoth debacle, in 2011. The very last thing she had done in life was to kiss me. Every time I had visited her in my dreams, or in a self-hypnotic trance, I had said goodbye to her with a kiss.

I was _used_ to kissing girls.

Had Lisa been getting me _accustomed_ to kissing girls, so that when I met Andrea, it would not be so unthinkable to enter into a physical relationship with her? Had she seen _that_ far ahead?

_Lisa, _I told myself grimly, _when I see you next, you got some 'splainin' -_

Another knot in my shoulders went _pop_, and I lost my train of thought.

"Oh god," I groaned. "That feels so good."

"Wow, you just keep feeding me these straight lines," Andrea chuckled. "Just remember, you're making this up to me, tonight."

Awkwardly, I reached up and back; divining my intention, Andrea took my hand.

"I couldn't do this without you," I told her sincerely. "You mean a lot to me." Which meant that I would venture quite a way outside my normal comfort zone for Andrea. I had to admit, though, on the occasions that we _did_ do anything, we both ended up having quite a lot of fun. Even if it still felt just a bit weird.

And the rest of the time, her emotional support, her down-to-earth nature, kept me grounded, kept me on course. Kept me from despairing at the magnitude of the task I had set myself.

She squeezed my hand. "You're pretty damn special to me too, Taylor," she responded. "Messiah complex and all."

I had to chuckle. "Is it really a Messiah complex if you are actually trying to save the world?"

"Let me get back to you on that one," she decided; letting go my hand, she dug her thumbs in again. "You've still got more knots than a Boy Scout convention here."

"Jamboree," I told her.

"What?"

"Boy Scout conventions are called Jamborees."

"Oh, shut up." She dug deeper.

_Pop._ That time, the release of tension nearly gave me whiplash.

"Oh holy god, what was _that?"_

Her expression was hidden from me, but I could hear the satisfaction in her voice. "Another five minutes of foot-rubbing, tonight."

I grinned and pillowed my chin on my crossed arms. "You got it."

-ooo-

**September 1992**

Andrea entered the apartment and looked around with a certain amount of surprise.

"Uh, why the mood lighting?" she asked.

I glanced around; the lights were nearly all out, and I had candles everywhere I could safely put them. Soft music was playing on the stereo.

Approaching her, I put my hands on her shoulders. "Do you remember what today is?" I asked softly.

She frowned, taking in the dressing gown I was wearing, and not making the connection. "Uh, the eighth of September?"

I smiled, then leaned in and kissed her, trying to make it sexy and tender. "It's our anniversary, silly."

Her eyes opened wide, then even wider as I undid the gown and let it slide back off of my shoulders to fall to the ground. Under it, I was wearing an extremely brief, extremely lacy, extremely transparent negligee.

"Holy shit," she murmured. "I forgot. I've never been in a relationship long enough to _have_ an anniversary before." Her eyes lifted to mine with an effort. "I'm sorry."

I shook my head and gave her a smile, trying not to let her see the strain there. "Me neither. But you've stuck with me this far, and I thought I'd give you something nice." I gestured at my body. "Me."

"But you're _straight,"_ she protested.

"And you're not," I responded. "I know you want to -"

"What I want doesn't matter," she interrupted, then shook her head. "God, I never thought that I'd be trying to talk you _out_ of letting me have sex with you."

I hesitated. "I – look, you mean a lot to me. You've helped me through so much. You've _been_ here for me. It doesn't matter that Lisa manipulated me into being with you. You're a really nice person, and I like you a lot, and can't I just -"

She took my hands. "Taylor," she interrupted softly. "I like you a lot, too. But I like you when you're being _you_, not the person you think I want you to be. I like the shy, sweet Taylor, the one who doesn't throw herself at me."

I was beginning to shake, and she led me to the sofa and sat me down.

"We've had sex before -" I began.

"Yes," she agreed. "And it was my idea each time. I've had to get you into the mood, more or less trick you into it. That's the fun of it, for me with you. The look in your eyes when you realise what's going on."

I giggled, involuntarily, but it sounded high-pitched, almost hysterical. She put her arms around me, holding me, comforting me.

"You thought you had to do this, didn't you?" she murmured. "You thought you had to let me have sex with you on our anniversary, or what we have means nothing. That maybe I'd leave you for greener pastures if you didn't."

I nodded; I was still shaking with the tension. "I was going to do everything you wanted," I told her, trying not to choke on the lump in my throat. "I was going to be your perfect lover, just for tonight."

She shook her head, giggling at me, and kissed me; it was a simple, loving, affectionate kiss, not a romantic or deeply sexual one. "Don't you get it, Taylor?" she asked me. "You _are_ my perfect lover. What we have together is better than anything I've ever had before. You _mean_ something to me. You aren't in it for the sex. You like me for _me._ And when I do manage to sneak up you every now and again, that just adds spice on top."

I leaned against her, unable to speak. Tears spilled down my cheeks. This was a side of Andrea that I had never seen before, had not ever suspected.

"Come on," she told me softly, "let's get some clothes on to you before I forget myself and have my wicked way with you."

This time, my giggle was more natural, for all that I still had tears in my eyes. "I thought you _were_ in it for the sex," I commented as we headed for the bedroom.

"Well, I am," she agreed readily. "It's just that, with special people like you, there's more than just sex to consider." She paused, and looked me up and down. "But I have to say, I do like the anniversary present you were going to give me." I flushed and giggled again.

And so she helped me get dressed again, and if she lingered a little over it, I wasn't going to deny her the small pleasures in life.

We slept that night in one anothers' arms, as usual, but this time, I felt just that little bit more at home in her embrace.

* * *

I took a deep breath and tried to keep my voice reasonable. "Professor, I _know_ the material. I can pass this class, right now. Just give me a chance. _Please."_

Professor Kingsley was in his sixties; he'd had tenure at Brockton Bay College since long before super-powers were a thing, since well before Scion had ever appeared. I got the distinct impression that he considered the whole cape phenomenon (to coin a phrase that wasn't in common parlance yet – oops) to be just a passing fad.

Boy, was _he_ in for a shock.

More and more super-powered individuals were cropping up all over; since January, both Allfather and Galvanate had gone public. Allfather had either moved to Brockton Bay recently, or had been flying under the radar up until now; Galvanate, I knew, was a former Mob enforcer who had triggered with powers, and gone into business for himself. Marquis had yet to show himself, but I was fairly certain that he was already in Brockton Bay, awaiting the ideal time to make his move.

The Mob, in Brockton Bay as with the rest of the United States, was more or less on the way out. Given their decades-long run in America, they were as conservative as any organised-crime syndicate could get. The rank and file were 'made men', and the upper echelon were all Family. This meant that a Johnny-come-lately super-powered upstart could not just buy himself into a place on the board; one did not simply step into a command position in the Mob without being scrutinised for years beforehand. In addition, given the conflict-based nature of parahumans and the 'passengers' that gave them their powers - Lisa and I had had several _fascinating _conversations on the subject - it went against the grain for the average cape to even consider accepting a non-powered boss. The Mob could not and would not adjust to this reality, and so they were destined to go the way of the dinosaur.

I also knew that in the next few years, with the shipping crisis leading to the creation of the Boat Graveyard, and the downturn in the city's fortunes, more and more villains would make the city their home. I was still a little hazy on whether the economic downturn would lead to the shipping crisis, or vice versa; it was very much a chicken-and-egg thing. One of the knock-on effects, though, would be the demise of Grantley High School, and the decline of Winslow.

All of which gave me excellent material upon which to base my final Criminology paper; worded vaguely enough, and with sufficient supporting evidence, it would pass for an intuitive but not magically prescient piece of work.

If only Professor Kingsley would consent to allowing me to present it early, graduating by Christmas. Which did not seem likely at this time.

* * *

_James Kingsley eyed the young woman on the other side of his desk with well-concealed disfavour. He did not approve of the liberal attitudes of the modern era; as far as he was concerned, a woman's task was to attain just enough of an education to be able to manage a household, and then find a suitable husband and do just that. Moreover, they ought to be demure, modest and above all, respectful of their station in life._

_Taylor Snow, in the time that he had been aware of her, seemed to not care about any of this; she wore jeans instead of skirts, was a regularly attending member of ROTC, did not kowtow to anyone else's opinion on anything, and aggressively attacked the course-load in his class with an enthusiasm that was positively daunting. She was also ... but that was something he didn't even want to **think** about._

_He knew that she was studying ahead, buying textbooks where needed, to cover aspects of the subject that he had not yet touched upon. Herein lay a curious dichotomy in his mind; were a male student of his to push so hard, Kingsley would encourage him and wish him well. But he could only regard Taylor Snow's efforts with irritation that she was 'getting above herself'._

_Kingsley was wholly unaware of the strong misogyntic streak in his nature, and would have been shocked and disbelieving had anyone pointed it out. In his own mind, he was entirely justified in his attitudes and actions; a not uncommon belief, even among the worst of tyrants._

_In this instance, the conviction that he had formed was this: **Taylor Snow will not graduate early. She has not earned it.**_

_Accordingly, he gazed across the width of his desk at her, and spoke calmly and firmly. "Request denied, Miss Snow. You will graduate with the rest of your class." A patient smile, that only missed being condescending by a very narrow margin. "After all, you may well find that rushing through your classwork like this often leads to errors in judgement. You don't want to get ahead of yourself, do you?"_

_"But, Professor, I - "_

_He held up a hand. "I've said my piece. My judgement is final. You're not ready to graduate, not within the year."_

* * *

I stared at him in frustration. I had no idea why he had taken such a set against me. I was, of course, no stranger to adversity from those in authority; in Brockton Bay of 2011, I had encountered more than my fair share of such. But this had generally stemmed from either laziness, corruption, or the fact that I had been a supervillain for much of the year. Taking over great chunks of the city and terrorising the opposition with millions of bugs does tend to breed a little resentment.

However, in the case of Professor James Kingsley, I had no idea of the cause of the animosity.

That there _was_ animosity, I had no doubt; he hid it well, but I had come up against that very sort of stonewalling obduracy too many times to mistake it. He didn't want me to graduate early, and thus I was not going to graduate early.

And therein lay the problem; back in the day, I had had three ways to deal with obstacles. The first, and simplest, was to gather my resources and smash my way through them. The second way was to circumvent them, to go around. And the third was to simply walk away, as I did when Blackwell made it clear that she wasn't going to help against Emma's bullying; if I wasn't at school, then they couldn't bully me at school. So I stopped going to school.

Unfortunately, none of these tactics would work against Kingsley. I couldn't beat him up - or rather, I _could, _but it would do me no good - I couldn't work around him, and I really needed to graduate, in order that my credentials be sufficiently impressive when they started recruiting for the PRT in January.

Stymied, I turned and left his office. I managed not to slam his door, but it was an effort.

-ooo-

**October 1992**

"Whoof!" Gladys staggered back from the blow, and I followed up fast. I wasn't her equal in the boxing ring – quite a few of the _male_ ROTC students weren't – but padded staffs were just the thing for me. I had long arms and speed, and that made up for her superior strength, for the most part. Although, when she was on form, she could hand me my ass with those, too.

Today, however, I was doing well. My staff-ends _thwacked_ against her protective padding hard enough to sting, but not quite hard enough to break bones. She back-pedalled, then rallied and counter-attacked. I defended, slipping her blows aside, then hit her high and low in rapid succession.

The bell went, signalling the end of the round, and we stepped apart, saluting with our staffs. Applause broke out around the gym; I glanced around, surprised. I hadn't known we had an audience. Gladys joined me, grinning, as we pulled our head protectors off. Together, as if we had planned it, we took a bow to the assembled students.

"And _that_, folks, is why you don't piss off Harvey or Snow," announced the ROTC instructor. "At least, not when they've got a big stick at hand."

Laughter arose as we stepped off the mat. "Geez, Taylor, you were on fire out there," one of the guys complimented me. "Are you _sure_ she's your best friend?"

"Only _outside_ the ring," I informed him, to more laughter, handing off the staff to him. "Now if you'll excuse me, I think I need to take a shower."

* * *

"Soap?" requested Gladys, her hair full of suds. I handed her the soap, then took the shampoo.

"Thanks," she added. I began to lather up my own hair.

"No problem," I told her. "Sorry if I was a bit hard on you out there."

She shook her head, then sputtered as a little lather from her hair fell across her lips. "Pfft. No, it's not a problem. It's like you said. There's no friends in the ring. You get out there, and you win."

I smiled as I closed my eyes and ducked my head under the shower head to wash the lather out.

"Though you really were pushing hard today," she mused, soaping herself up. "Issues?"

"Kind of," I admitted.

"Problems with Andrea?" she asked, probing cautiously.

I shook my head, wet strands of my hair whipping about. "Oh god no. She's the only thing keeping me sane. It's Kingsley. He's not gonna let me graduate early, and what's worse, he's been talking to my other professors, and because he's senior, they're listening to him."

Gladys ran her hands over her face, pushing her wet hair back, as she stared at me. "You're fucking kidding me."

"I shit you not," I assured her, turning off the shower and reaching for my towel.

"And you can't appeal this or something?" she asked.

I sighed. "I can't prove discrimination, not without something to hang it on. A professor is allowed to think that a student isn't ready to graduate early. But he dislikes me for some reason. I just don't know what _for."_

She turned off her own shower, and began to dry her hair. "Maybe you're approaching this all wrong."

I turned to her, quizzically. "How so?"

"You've always been the best tactician I know of," she told me, briskly rubbing her head. "With that tape deck of yours. And afterward, without. Just closing your eyes and going away for a little bit, then opening them and having the plan all laid out. Right?"

I nodded, squeezing the water out of my own hair. "Yeah, so?"

She paused in her drying efforts. "So apply tactics to this. Go wherever you go, and find out how to beat this guy at his own game."

It was like the sun had come out. She was so very, very right. Why the hell hadn't I asked Lisa about this?

For that matter, why hadn't she told me whatever the solution was?

_Because she needed me to ask. I needed to make that connection. Right._

I dropped my towel and hugged her, then kissed her soundly. "Gladys, you're a genius."

"Right, right." She grinned at me. "Not that I don't like you, Taylor, but you might want to let me go, before people come in and get the wrong idea."

I giggled. "Oh, okay." Letting her go, I stepped back and retrieved my towel. Gladys seemed to be a little embarrassed by the incident; I supposed I may have been as well, before I met Andrea. "Sorry. But what you said was so right."

She shook her head and smiled at me. "That's okay. You were excited." She tilted her head. "But are you _sure_ you're not into girls? You were awfully huggy and kissy, just then."

I stuck my tongue out at her.

* * *

_The roar of the motorcycle engine was loud in my ears. I settled down over the fuel tank, or what I assumed to be the fuel tank, and twisted the throttle wide open. Heads-up displays spilled across the interior of my helmet visor. Picking out a single menu, I selected it by eye, and immediately the sound dampers cut in, reducing the engine noise to bearable levels._

_Lisa lay astride a similar bike, alongside me. She wore racing leathers similar to mine, although her theme recalled her Tattletale costume, while mine looked remarkably Skitter-like. The motorbike itself had the lines of a jet fighter, or a space shuttle, all smooth curves and raked-back fairings. LEDs rippled back and forth along the side of the chassis, and within the engine itself, for no apparent reason other than to make it look twenty percent more awesome._

_We raced along a smooth road, cutting through rugged terrain of rocks and scrubby clumps of grass. I leaned the bike to take a corner, and the HUD indicated that the active tyre treading was coming online to handle the extra load._

"_**Just up ahead,"** Lisa told me via the helmet radio. **"Get ready."**_

_Moments later, I spotted the first bogey; a blocky craft, hovering on some sort of jet propulsion. It swooped in over the road, an ugly-looking cannon swivelling to aim at us._

"_**On it,"** Lisa reported laconically, as twin cannons unstowed themselves from alongside the front wheels of her bike. They canted skyward, and spat fire. The craft detonated in midair, scattering shrapnel far and wide. **"Scratch one."**_

_I spotted the next one on bike radar, coming in hard from the left. Lisa wasn't in position to get it._

_Immediately, I put the bike into a slide; Lisa, divining my intent, accelerated and pulled ahead._

_The bike cannon could not swivel sideways normally, but in this instance, with the entire bike turned at ninety degrees, it was amazing what one could manage._

_The enemy craft was just lining up to shoot when my targeting pipper intersected its course. I mashed the Fire button, and blew it to pieces. **Scratch two.**_

_I was still sliding sideways, but I engaged the active treads; they gripped the road and gave me extra traction. Gyros got me back on to my wheels again, and I put on the power to catch up with Lisa._

_**So much for the welcome wagon,** I told her. **What's next?**_

"_**The big boys,"** she warned me. **"In three."**_

_I counted down silently in my head, and at 'zero', we topped the rise ahead of us, going airborne in the process._

_Ahead were a whole lot more adversaries, all robotic. Some hovered on underjets, while others moved around on wheels, tracks or legs. All were turning to aim weapons at us._

_We were currently airborne, which is not a good place for a motorcycle to be in a hostile environment. But at a simultaneous command, both of our cycles ceased being cycles._

_On 'zero', just as we went airborne, I had given the command for my bike to go to secondary mode; it pulled itself apart, and rebuilt itself in midair, wrapping itself around me to form a suit of powered armour. My helmet integrated itself with this, and a whole new suite of HUD readouts sprang up on the interior of the visor._

_The bike cannon had ended up on the arms of the suit, and we were both firing before we hit the ground. Leg-jets slowed our fall, and our fire tracked over the airborne opponents. One after another, even as fire sleeted past our armoured forms, we blew them apart in gouts of debris._

_Once on the ground, we were faced with what is commonly known as a 'target-rich environment'. I was well versed in fire-and-move tactics, and Lisa obviously had a good grounding in it as well. We couldn't avoid all the incoming rounds, but our suits were equipped with basic force shields that took the edge off the enemy fire._

_I fired, spun, covered Lisa, fired again, crouched to allow one landcrawler to destroy another with an ill-aimed shot, fired again, leaped on to the landcrawler to wrench its turret off, leaped off again …_

_The battle was over in a few minutes; I stood there panting, listening to the creaks and pops of my armour's heat sinks slowly cooling. Lisa came to stand beside me, observing the havoc which we had wrought. She popped her helmet visor, and I did the same._

"_Nicely done," she praised me. "I got the impression you needed to shoot something."_

_I grinned. **That fit the bill, all right.** **Thanks.**_

_Her vulpine smile answered me. "That's all right. It was a lot of fun. You've been kind of stressed recently."_

_I eyed her. **And you know why.**_

_She nodded, unabashed. "But I needed you to ask me. I can't hand you every solution on a silver platter."_

_**I suppose …** I answered grudgingly. **Not that I'm still not pissed over the Andrea thing.**_

_She rolled her eyes. "She was the best thing for you," she pointed out. "Still is. If you weren't with her, you'd be a lot more stressed right now. So I had to … facilitate."_

_**I know, I know, you're right,** I agreed. **But just because you're right doesn't mean I can't still be annoyed at you.**_

_She giggled. "Okay, so long as we've got that straight. So, your problem with stress."_

_I nodded. **Kingsley.**_

"_Yeah," she agreed. "You're gonna have to do your research on this one."_

_**What? **I gasped in simulated shock. **It's not already in my memory palace?**_

"_Sure it is," she told me. "But it's probably better if you find it on your own."_

_I paused, waiting. When she didn't continue, I made a 'go on' gesture._

_In return, she pulled a tablet from a thigh compartment of her armour and handed it to me. "It's all on here."_

_I scanned the screen. There were the usual stock and racing tips, and then right down at the bottom, just a few lines._

_Brockton Bay Bulletin._

_17 July, 1975._

_Page 6._

_I looked up at her. **This is where I'll find what I need to know?**_

_She spread her hands. "Maybe." But her grin said yes._

_**You're enjoying this, aren't you?** I grumbled, but my heart wasn't in it._

"_Uh huh," she told me cheerfully. "I've got to get back to the palace. Want to come with? I've added a new wing."_

_Regretfully, I shook my head. **I'll check on it next visit, **I assured her. **Thanks for the shoot-em-up, and this information. Whatever it is.**_

"_That's cool," she told me. "Give Andrea a hug for me. Kiss before you go?"_

_I kissed her; her lips tasted, as always, of dust and blood. At the same time, I closed my eyes …_

* * *

… and opened them to look into Andrea's eyes.

"Hey, you," she greeted me softly, her lips curving into a smile.

"Hey, you," I responded.

We lay side by side on our shared bed, not two feet apart. In my hands I held a pen and pad, upon which was written the information that Lisa had given me.

"It's always weird watching you do that," she told me with a grin. "Talking to Lisa … it's really real, inside your head, isn't it?"

I nodded. Ever since I had told Andrea about Lisa coming with me into the past, she had understood my trances and my dreams a lot more. Telling her about the escapades that we got up to was an endless source of amusement for her; the chicken gun, the zeppelin battles, the velociraptor wrangling, they all left her laughing helplessly.

"She said to give you a hug," I noted, and proceeded to suit action to word. Andrea didn't object that I noticed; hugging was something she could get right on board with.

"I like her more and more," she told me, once we disengaged. "Especially since she set it up so that we'd be together." This was another thing that amused her greatly, especially since I was less than pleased at being so manipulated.

I rolled my eyes. "I like being with you, Andrea. Don't think I don't. It's just that … I hate it when I find out that I never had a choice in matters."

She nodded sympathetically. "Well, at least it's all to the good," she pointed out. "So, what do we have for today?"

I tore off the top sheet of the pad, then tore off the strip of paper that held the newspaper information. "This is yours," I told her, handing her the top bit, "and this is mine."

"What's that for?" she asked curiously.

"Lisa says it will help with Kingsley," I explained.

"Well, if it's anywhere near as good as the stock tips, I'd check it out as soon as possible," she advised me.

I climbed off the bed, and started looking around for my pants. "Just what I thought," I agreed. "I'll bus it over to the library, while you're working on our financial empire."

"Bring back whatever you find," she told me. "I want to see, too."

I leaned over and kissed her. "It's a deal."

* * *

Andrea stared at the photocopied newspaper article. "Holy crap," she murmured. "So _that's_ what it's all about."

I nodded. "That's it, all right. That's the reason, right there."

She looked up at me. "So what are you going to do? How do you even _use _something like that?"

I grinned. "I know someone. A friend of a friend."

"Really?" she asked. "Someone I know?"

"Not yet," I told her. "But I'll introduce you." I grinned. "You two have something in common."

* * *

The train pulled in to the station as Andrea and I waited impatiently with Danny.

"Thanks for doing this," I told him for about the tenth time.

"Hey, if I can't help my, uh, foster sister out every now and again, what sort of brother would I be?"

I grinned up at him, and elbowed him gently. "Thanks, Dad," I told him, very quietly.

He looked startled, then gave me a mock glare. Andrea was grinning broadly; she'd heard what I'd said.

"Don't _do_ that," he muttered. "I'm still not quite sure that I believe it."

"You don't have to," I assured him. "I'll still like you whether you do or not."

He went to reply, but just then a voice called out to us.

"Danny! Taylor! Over here!"

We turned and looked, and there was Alan Barnes, broad-shouldered and powerfully built, pushing his way through the crowd. His red hair flamed in the sunlight, and he grinned widely at the sight of us.

"Alan!" Danny greeted him. He came together with his friend; hugging, back-slapping and shaking hands vigorously. Alan turned to me next, holding out his hand. I shook it, feeling the power in his grip.

"Christ, Taylor, you've grown," he told me. "Nearly as tall as the beanpole there."

"Hey hey hey," I warned him. "I'm a bit of a beanpole too, remember."

He chuckled and ruffled my hair, before turning to Andrea. "I don't believe we've met. Alan Barnes, attorney at law – almost."

"Andrea Campbell," she responded. "How are you, Mr Barnes?"

"Call me Alan," he insisted. "Danny's mentioned you. So you're Taylor's girlfriend, are you?"

"I think it's more that I'm _her_ girlfriend," I corrected him with a grin.

He nodded, taking that in. "So … how's Dot taking that?" he asked shrewdly.

Danny looked uncomfortable; I decided to make it very simple. "She's not," I told Alan bluntly. "What I do in my time is my business, and if I'm not welcome back there, it's her loss, not mine."

"Well said," he applauded me. "So, what's this business you called me here for anyway?"

"Why don't we get back to our apartment first?" I suggested. "That way, we can sit down and discuss the matter in private."

It didn't take long to grab his luggage, and then we were on our way.

* * *

"Okay," Alan commented, perusing the photocopies I had made, "it seems pretty clear. With this, we could make a good case for discrimination. That could lead to a very nice compensation payout."

Sitting on the sofa with Andrea, I shook my head. "I don't want a payout. I just want to be allowed to graduate early."

"But why?" he asked me curiously.

"It's really, really complicated," I confessed. "But it's something I need to do."

He shrugged. "Well, if you need to do it … " A moment passed while he thought about the matter. "Okay then, we'll go and talk to him. See if he can be made to see reason."

"Fat chance of that," I muttered.

He grinned, and I knew he'd heard me. "There are ways and ways of seeing reason, Taylor. Trust me, I'm almost a lawyer."

For some reason, that struck both Andrea and myself as being utterly hilarious, and we burst out laughing. Danny wasn't far behind.

* * *

Professor Kingsley looked up in irritation as I entered his office. "Miss Snow," he stated firmly, "I have told you that my judgement is final. In addition, you will have to leave, as I have another appointment at this moment, with a Mr Barnes."

"Yes," Alan agreed as he followed me in. "I'm Alan Barnes. I'm representing Ms Snow here today."

"Representing?" snapped Kingsley, as Andrea slipped in behind Alan, and stood alongside me, taking my hand in hers.

"Representing," Alan agreed smoothly. "I'm currently studying law at Harvard, and while I am not yet articled, I know enough about the law to understand that you are perpetrating a gross injustice upon Taylor here."

"I am doing no such thing!" blustered Kingsley, then he caught sight of Andrea pulling me down for a quick kiss. "Cease that disgusting behaviour at once! Get out of my office, the two of you!"

"They will do no such thing," Alan told him, leaning forward over the desk. "If they do leave, the next communication you have from them will be via a lawyer of my acquaintance. I will be conveying to him all the information about the suit of discrimination that he will be bringing against you."

"Discrimination?" repeated the professor. "Poppycock! Rubbish!"

Alan shook his head. "Not so, sir." He indicated Andrea and myself, now standing demurely, side by side. "You know that Taylor is in a relationship with Andrea here; they do not make a secret of it."

"What students do between themselves," growled Kingsley, "is entirely none of my business, so long as they do it outside of my office."

"Very true, sir," Alan agreed. "But the fact is that you reacted very strongly to that display of affection just now."

The bluster was back. "It was inappropriate behaviour, that's what it was. There's no place for it here."

"Really?" remarked Alan. "So it had nothing to do with your wife running off with another woman, seventeen years ago?" He fanned out on the desk the photocopied sheets from the library. "It was quite the scandal, in its day."

Kingsley stared at the article. "How did you know -"

"Hard work and research," Alan told him smoothly. "Now, any lawyer in the country could build a case for discrimination out of this. Your name would be splashed across every paper in the city. Do you really want to go there?"

Kingsley swallowed. "What … what do you want?"

"I want the chance to graduate by Christmas," I told him firmly, speaking for the first time. "No extra help, no special grades, just a fair assessment of my work."

His eyes flicked from me to Alan, and back, a hunted animal. "And that's it?" he managed. "Nothing more?"

Alan glanced at me; I shook my head. "Nothing more." I took a deep breath. "Give me that chance, Professor, and this conversation never happened."

I saw his eyes flick from me to Alan, momentarily to Andrea, and then back to Alan once more.

"Fine," he growled, addressing Alan. "She gets her chance. Now get out of my office."

Alan bowed slightly, stowing the photocopies away in his coat pocket. "Thank you, sir."

He ushered us out, closing the door quietly behind him. We walked along the corridor, down the stairs, and out through the main entrance to where Danny was waiting, before my patience finally broke.

"Is that it?" I asked. "Will he do it?"

Alan smiled. "I believe he will," he told me. "Lesser of two evils and all."

Andrea squealed, grabbed me, and kissed me, hard. Then she grabbed Alan, and bestowed the same upon him, this time to his right cheek. I added a kiss of mine to his left cheek.

"Thank you," I told him fervently. "I appreciate it, so much."

He grinned back at the both of us, rubbing his cheeks where we had kissed him. "Best legal fees I ever collected," he commented with a chuckle.

Danny slapped him on the shoulder. "So from the sounds of it, it went well?"

Alan nodded. "Yeah. He crumbled pretty fast."

Andrea hugged me tightly. "You're gonna graduate, you're gonna graduate!"

"Not so fast," I warned her. "I still have to actually qualify. Write my papers and suchlike."

"Pft!" she told me dismissively. "You haven't come so far to fall down on that. I won't _let_ you."

I held her tightly. "I know," I murmured. "And thanks."

She snuggled into my embrace. "You're welcome."

-ooo-

**13 December 1992**

I opened the front door to let Danny and Anne-Rose in.

"So what's this all about?" asked Danny as I led them through to the living room. Gladys was already sitting on the sofa, chatting with Andrea.

"Proof," I told him briefly. "Have a seat. It'll be coming up shortly."

I went into the kitchen and emerged with a tray holding several glasses, and a couple of bottles of whiskey.

"This isn't you, Taylor," frowned Danny. "I remember the last time you got drunk. It didn't agree with you at all."

"Andrea says my drink was spiked," I reminded him, as I sat next to the redhead. She took my hand, and I squeezed it. "We're going to need these, in a moment."

The TV was already on, and I changed channels, to the one Lisa had told me to go to.

"I'd heard that there was some sort of earth tremor in the Middle East -" Anne-Rose ventured hesitantly.

I reached out and took her hand. She looked startled, then took a look at my expression, and her eyes widened. "Trust me," I told her softly. "Pour yourself a drink. You're going to need it."

Glass clinked against glass, and alcohol was poured out. Andrea sipped hers, then put it down. I did the same, feeling the bite of the liquor.

I turned the TV up.

" _\- live from the Marun Field in Iran, where a strange earth tremor has manifested into something else altogether. I'm aboard a news chopper, but we've been warned to stay far back by the Protectorate. We'll try to bring you images via telephoto lens."_

The picture was jumpy and occasionally blurry, but it was possible to see the figures of the Protectorate, in their distinctive costumes, flying and standing, around the growing mound of disturbed earth and rock. Local parahumans were also scattered around, deferring to the American heroes. I caught a glimpse of Hero in his powered armour, and a lump rose in my throat.

_We were so innocent, _I told myself. _We didn't know._

And then the mound split, and spilled away, and the top of his head emerged. Black, with obsidian horns, and the single glaring red eye. More earth was literally shouldered aside as an arm reached up, pulling the grotesque body from the ground.

Over the sudden tangle of voices from the TV, Danny gasped. "What the goddamn fuck _is_ that thing?" Testament to his shock was the profanity, which I had rarely, if ever, heard him use.

"Behemoth," I told them, through the lump in my throat. Tears spilled down my face. "They'll call him Behemoth."

We watched, then, in silence, as the monstrosity, the first Endbringer, hauled himself out of the ground, and stood hunched over. The reporter was breathlessly describing the scene, speculating on what the thing was, what it wanted, where it was from -

And then Behemoth roared.

We literally _saw_ the shockwave racing out from the distant creature, heard the shout of alarm from the pilot, saw the picture tilt crazily as he tried to turn the craft and flee.

All to no avail. The shockwave struck, the picture tumbling over and over. Sky, ground, sky, ground, over and over. A glimpse of a flailing human figure, spraying blood from where its face should be, a helicopter with its rotors windmilling uselessly as it tumbled over and over until it hit the ground.

And then the camera struck, and the picture went blank.

There was a very long pause before the transmission was renewed; a news anchor, sitting shocked and stunned at his desk. _"We'll … we'll bring you more of that as it comes in,"_ he croaked. The TV cut to an advertisement, and I turned it off.

"So that's it," I told them. "Now you know why I came back."

Danny stared at me, then picked up his glass and drained it. I held out the bottle, and he took a refill, the neck of the bottle chattering against the glass.

Anne-Rose was white as a sheet. "You _knew_ that was going to happen?" she whispered.

I nodded. "Yeah."

"But – why didn't you - "

"Say something? Do something? Warn them?" I put down the bottle before I dropped it. "Say what, to whom? I'm safest, I can do what I have to, from behind the scenes."

Andrea was crying softly; I did my best to comfort her. She clung to me.

"You're going up against _that?"_ she whimpered. "You'll _die."_

I shook my head. "Nope. I know where it's from, and I know how to stop it. All I need is the right time and opportunity."

Gladys put her hand on my shoulder. "You're nuts," she advised me. "You're absolutely nuts. But sign me up too."

Again, I shook my head. "No. Where I've got to go, what I've got to do, isn't for you. Get your degree. Be a teacher. Make sure Danny and Anne-Rose's kids get a square deal in school."

Slowly, she nodded. "But if you ever need help -"

I took her hand and squeezed it. "You'll be the first one I'll call on."

* * *

Later that night, as Andrea and I lay together in bed, she shifted a little.

"Taylor?" she mumured.

"Hmm?" I asked, moving so I could hold her closer.

"What you said to Gladys, about calling on her first?"

"Yeah?"

"What about me?" Her voice was lost, desolate.

I smiled and kissed her. "Sweetie, I'll never _stop_ calling on you. Financial empire, remember?"

"Oh, yeah." She snuggled closer into my embrace.

"Now get some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be a big day."

"Okay, Taylor."

And we slept.

* * *

End of Part 2-4


	15. Chapter 15

**\o/**

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 3-0: Another Brick in the Wall

* * *

**January 1993**

_Life in the PRT, decided the recruiting sergeant, was not all that it was cracked up to be. Previously a corporal in the Marine Corps, he had been attracted by the promise of a straight-up promotion to sergeant, as an incentive to transfer from one service to the other. There had been glowing words about 'forming the core' of the Parahuman Response Teams, of 'being at the forefront' of the 'brave new service'. He'd be working with the Protectorate, he'd been told. Associating with the superheroes._

_Yeah, like __**that**__ had happened._

_The closest he had come to even saying hello to any of the members of the Protectorate, much less getting an autograph, was a distant glimpse of someone who may or may not have been wearing a costume, as he was walking from one transport aircraft to another at some airbase in the middle of god-knows-where._

_**Join the PRT and meet the superheroes. Right.**_

_He hadn't even met an __**officer**__ in the PRT yet; his entire experience had been of senior NCOs, giving orders. Pack your duffel, be on this plane by oh-dark-thirty. Transfer to that plane, on the double, hut, hut, hut!_

_And now he was in Brockton Bay, which equated to the ass-end of nowhere, as far as he was concerned. He strongly suspected that he was __**the**__ PRT presence in Brockton Bay, right at that moment. One very lonely recruiting sergeant, a Parahuman Response Teams soldier without a team._

_They had given him a sedan, recently repainted with the PRT logo on the doors. He also had the recruiting booth, a folding chair, and a couple of folding tables, one of which was to act as his desk, and the other to hold the information booklets. And as he was a serving NCO in the brand-new Parahuman Response Teams, they had issued him one duty sidearm, nine-millimetre, self-defence, for the use of. That was it._

_He'd heard that there were two ongoing parahuman-led criminal gangs in Brockton Bay; if rumours about this new guy called Marquis were true, then a third was on the rise. Gloomily, he wondered what his chances were like if any of these parahuman criminals decided to object to the presence of the PRT in Brockton Bay. __**Not good**__, he suspected. __**Even **_**with**_** the pistol.**_

_But, as per orders, he had set up on the campus of the Brockton Bay College. No-one had bothered him, parahuman or otherwise. Oh, he'd had a few people wandering up to see what it was all about, and to leaf through the literature, but no-one had shown much in the way of interest. Except for a few screwballs who had somehow gotten the idea that if they signed up, they could be given super-powers of their own. Like that was even possible._

_He was leaning back in the chair, reading one of the leaflets, and learning more about the PRT than he had to date, when he heard someone clear their throat._

_"Excuse me?"_

_Dropping the leaflet back on the table, he sat up straight. "Yes, can I help you?"_

_Even as the reflexive question left his lips, he was looking over the trio who now faced him. For a split second, he thought it was two guys and a girl, but then he realised that they were all female. A tall blonde, broad in the shoulders, an equally-tall brunette, skinny, with glasses, and a shorter redhead with a cheeky grin._

_The blonde would be joining, he guessed; she had height and heft, and unless he missed his guess, serious muscle under that coat. The tall brunette and the short redhead were probably along for moral support._

_But to his surprise, it was the brunette who stepped forward. She held herself with a certain air of confidence and poise, and he found himself straightening in his seat. "I'm here to sign up," he heard her say._

_"Uh, certainly, ma'am," he agreed, not entirely sure why it was that he used the honorific, rather than 'miss'. He glanced again at the blonde. "Are your friends joining as well ...?"_

_The blonde nudged the brunette. "I __**could**__," she murmured in an undertone._

_"__**No**__, Gladys," insisted the brunette, in a tone which made the sergeant suspect that this was not the first time that this subject had come up. "Be a teacher. Be with Franklin."_

_Gladys sighed. "Okay, __**fine**__." She jerked her thumb sideways at the brunette. "She's joining, I'm not."_

_The sergeant nodded. One recruit was better than none, and while he'd have preferred the blonde, her friend seemed at least to be fit and healthy. "Very well. I've got a recruitment form right here -"_

_"Uh, one thing?" interjected the brunette. She put her bag on the table and took out a sheaf of papers. "I'll be wanting to apply for officer training, please."_

_He stared. "__**Officer**__ training?"_

_"Sure," she replied, putting the papers down before him. "ROTC grading papers. Field exercise scores. Graduation transcripts."_

_He took the papers and leafed through them. They were meticulously organised, and painted a rather impressive picture. Good marks in physical training, excellent marks in shooting and hand-to-hand, outstanding marks in tactical and strategic planning._

_As for the academic transcripts, the material was over his head, but all bar one showed glowing reports. The one exception was for Criminology; the sergeant had read enough grudging progress reports that he could tell that the teacher had not much liked the student._

_But that wasn't his business; this girl, Taylor Snow, wanted to apply to join the PRT, and it was his job to accept the application and send the paperwork in._

_He watched her as she filled out the form. Short-sighted, he guessed, from the rectangular-lensed glasses she wore. Right-handed. Neat penmanship. A serious look on her face, which he guessed was habitual rather than assumed. And something else. A focus, an __**edge**__, in her expression, in her stance. A glint in her eye. He'd known people like that in the Green Machine. Those were people he'd learned not to cross._

_As she handed over the paperwork, and gave him the pen back, she nodded. "Thanks, sergeant."_

_"You're very welcome, ma'am," he replied. The redhead, who had not spoken, gave him a mischievous grin, before tucking her arm through the brunette's._

_As they walked away, the recruiting sergeant reflected that he might just have met his first PRT officer._

_**That kid's going far.**_

-ooo-

**February 1993**

"So this is it." Andrea looked away.

I nodded. "I got the letter today. I'm to report for induction at midday tomorrow. Bus leaves tomorrow morning."

She breathed deeply once, and then again. "Fuck." Her voice was tight.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Fuck." Stepping forward, I folded her in my arms.

For a moment, she was rigid, tense, but then she relaxed and leaned against me. I felt hot tears soaking through my shirt. "It's _not fair,"_ she told me, face still buried in my chest.

"No, it's not." I held her close, resting my chin on her head. "I thought -"

She paused, tilting her head. Turning her face so that I could see her. "Thought what?"

I breathed deeply myself, trying to get over the lump in my throat. "Thought that this would be easier. Wouldn't hurt so much."

She chuckled, or tried to. It sounded too much like a sob for my liking. "Whatever gave you _that_ stupid idea?"

Tears were flowing down my cheeks now. "Didn't know I loved you so much."

Her arms were wrapped tightly around me. "Well, _I_ knew. Gladys knew. I think everyone knew. Just like they know how I feel about you."

I tilted her face up and kissed her; there was salt on her lips, from my tears or hers, I didn't know. Didn't care. She kissed me back, fiercely.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed. "I'm really, really sorry."

"What – hup! - what are _you_ sorry about?" She was hiccuping now, between gulps for breath.

"Got you into this. Made you love me."

She snorted laughter, tears still on her face. _"Made_ me love you? You moron, I fell in love with you all by myself."

My eyes overflowed with tears; I couldn't see any more. I could only feel. And my heart was breaking. "I wish there was another way. I truly do."

"Me too, Taylor. Me too. But we can't be together, not if you've gotta do what you've gotta do."

We had discussed this matter, numerous times. Andrea didn't know my exact plans, but she knew that we had to separate our private lives once I entered the PRT. We could still be _friends_, but no more than that.

Because there were things I was planning to do that she was better off not being associated with.

But knowing the truth of the matter didn't make it any easier.

I clung to her, the bastion of stability who had kept me sane for more than a year. My girlfriend. My lover.

We clung to one another, and cried.

Somehow, we ended up in the bedroom. I looked at her, and she looked at me, and we moved together. For the first time, I submitted to her needs without demur, because just for this night, they were my needs too. Slowly, softly, gently, we made love for the last time.

And that too, in its own way, was a goodbye.

-ooo-

"Snow! Drop and give me -"

I was already on the ground, pumping out the first push-up, by the time the drill completed his shout; " - twenty!"

I had done push-ups before; our ROTC instructor had been very big on them. Due to him, my upper-body strength was better than it ever had before. And with Gladys to compete against, I had not slackened off since leaving college, and with it, ROTC.

I was already halfway through the allotted number when the drill's boots – so shiny I could admire my face in the mirrored surfaces, had I a mind to – came to rest in front of me. I kept cranking them out; this sort of harassment was so minor that it barely made my radar.

"Snow!" shouted the drill. "Are you trying to be smart?"

"Sarge, no, sarge!" I shouted, timing it so I didn't lose my rhythm with the push-ups. "Trying to do push-ups, sarge!"

Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.

"Twenty, sergeant," I reported, bouncing to my feet.

He eyed me grimly. I took the time to catch what little of my breath I had lost while he decided on his next angle of attack. The winter breeze whistled between the buildings, and chilled my scalp.

My scalp. It had bothered me more than I had thought it would, losing my hair to the barber's clippers. For years, I had considered my hair to be my best feature; I even wore an open-backed mask as Skitter and then Weaver so that my hair could hang free.

Entering Boot, all recruits had their hair cut. Men were trimmed down to the cue-ball look, what the drill called 'mighty fine'. Women – not that there were very many of us in that first intake – got the option of a shoulder-length trim instead of having it all taken off. I had opted for the all-over look; I didn't need anything else differentiating me from the men.

This had the odd effect of bringing me closer to the male recruits, but distancing me from the few female recruits. All the rest had accepted the modified cut; they seemed to think I was 'butch' for having the lot taken off.

The only regret I had was not having been able to save the hair. I had thought maybe I could have parcelled it up and sent it to Dad, before recalling that 'Dad' was no longer someone who really existed, here and now. But even that wasn't something I wanted to try. I was already marked out enough as it was.

My gaze was fixed at a point over the drill's head. He gave me a grudging nod. "Back in formation, Snow. On the double."

"Sergeant!" I replied, moving off 'at the double', to catch up to the formation, which was still marching away, and had been ever since I was called out to do push-ups.

* * *

I knew exactly what the drill was trying to do, and I wholeheartedly supported it – for _other_ people. He was trying to break us down, to knock civilian modes of thought out of us, so that we could be built up again into soldiers, men and women who would, if necessary, stand against parahumans in the defence of civilians.

I'd _done_ that. I was right there with that mindset. It was, in brief, the reason I was there, the reason I had joined the PRT. I had faced more cape menaces than the drill ever had, and probably ever would. They gave us lectures about the potential opponents we might face; I could have added examples that would have had the entire cadre collectively wetting themselves in terror.

I had faced Lung. The Nine. Leviathan. Echidna. _Behemoth._

Against Behemoth, I hadn't _won, _but I had faced him and I'd survived. Which put me light-years ahead of anyone else in the PRT, when it came to 'knowing your enemy'.

So I didn't need toughening up; mentally, I had been as tough as I'd ever get, before I ever turned seventeen. Physically, I was probably not at my peak yet, but that would be a matter of growth rather than exercise.

However, there was no way I could convey this to the drill in such a way that didn't either totally blow my cover, or make him think I was nuts (washing me out) or sound like I was complaining (which I really did not need). So I accepted, and endured, and kept track of things around me. Kept track of my fellow recruits.

Such as one that Lisa had informed me would be coming in with the second intake. She was on officer track, like me, but also like me, she had to do the boot training.

Like me, she had opted for the cue-ball haircut. Her name was Emily Piggot.

-ooo-

"_**Red Five! Bogey at your six, E-plus!"**_

_I spun the agile little singleship on its axis and dived into the tumbling rocks that made up the gas giant's rather elaborate ring system. The Brak ship streaked past my stern in a stutter of laser fire that vaporised three rocks, but missed me by a whisker. Through the ring layer, I pulled hard upward, feeling the inertial compensators struggling to keep up. The Brak ship would be through the rocks in a moment, and I had to be lined up …_

"_**Red Three. Got your six, Red Five."**_

_I keyed my mic. __**Roger, Red Three. Let's take out the trash.**_

"_**Now you're playing my song."**_

_Abruptly, as the Brak ship burst into the E-minus – the half of the stellar system below the ecliptic – I yanked at my controls; my singleship yawed and then tumbled away, moving erratically and apparently out of control. Brak were descended from predators; the pilot would not, could not, ignore a wounded, weakened foe. It turned after me, its tracking system seeking to lock me up._

_Red Three – Lisa – dropped out from behind a tumbling rock the size of a Brak cruiser, and tucked in behind the fighter. She gave him just long enough to realise exactly how boned he really was, then she blew him into very small pieces._

_Radio messages began filtering in from the other fighters of Red Flight. The Brak had been destroyed or driven off. It was time to return to base._

_Red Three formed up alongside me on the flight back. She pushed up her visor and gave me a thumbs-up and a victorious grin; I grinned back._

_Back in the hangar, we climbed out of our fighters, turning them over to the tender mercies of the mechanics. I nodded to her. __**Nice work out there, partner.**_

_She nodded back, her helmet under her arm. "Nice work yourself. If we hadn't arranged it between ourselves, I would have fallen for your dying-duck impression."_

_I grinned. __**Thanks. Now, other matters. Emily. How should I approach her?**_

_Lisa rubbed her chin. "Direct approach usually works with her." She raised an eyebrow. "I still think you'd make a better Director."_

_**Except for all the other stuff.**_

_She sighed. "Yeah, well. Except for that."_

_The lighting flickered; I glanced around. __**What's that? An attack?**_

_Lisa shook her head. "No. They're rousting the barracks for that midnight pack march."_

_I rolled my eyes. __**Figures. Okay, gotta go.**__ Leaning in toward Lisa, I kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood. __**Night.**_

"_Night."_

_The lights flickered again; I blinked._

-ooo-

Lisa had forewarned me about the pack march; I'd been careful to retire as early as possible, while wearing most of the clothing I would need on the march. My pack, already prepared, was waiting in my locker. And so, as the fluorescent lights flickered on down the length of the barracks, I sat up, turned, and put my sock-clad feet right into my boots. Then I grabbed my glasses from where I kept them beside the bunk.

"Pack march! Up you get! Rise an' shine! Show a leg! Let's get you out of those bunks, you scummy patch of … "

The drill, shouting as he went, banged with his baton on each bedframe that he passed. In his wake, sleep-confused recruits tumbled from their beds and began to hazily fumble on their uniforms. By the time he got to me, however, I was already shrugging into my pack, and tightening the straps.

Two bunks down, Emily Piggot was also more ready than most, although she was still climbing into her uniform. I saw her glance sharply at my state of readiness, but then the drill was stopping at my bunk.

"SNOW!" he bellowed.

I went to attention, and bellowed right back at him. "SERGEANT!"

He took a moment to look me up and down. "Snow, are you trying to be funny?"

"Sergeant, no, sergeant!" I replied, matching his tone.

"Snow, who told you there would be a pack march?"

"You did, sergeant!"

He paused. There was dead silence in the barracks. I couldn't even hear anyone breathing.

"When. Did. I. Do. That?"

"Just now, sergeant!"

I could see his face beginning to turn purple. It may, I realised belatedly, have been a bad idea to bait him.

"Pack inspection, Snow! Now now now!"

"Sergeant!" I removed the pack and passed it over to him. He unbuckled it, dropped it on the bed, and began to pull out the contents. They were, one and all, what was expected on a pack march. I'd made sure of it.

When the pack was empty, he turned to me. "Get that pack filled, Snow! On the double!" He turned to the rest of the barracks, and added, "And if any one of you finishes _after_ Snow, you'll be running laps!"

I packed it again, under his gimlet eye, exactly as I had been shown in Basic. Around me, others were working to complete the task ahead of time, but it didn't bother me. I knew I could get it right.

Buckling the straps and pulling them tight, I swung it on to my shoulders. "Done, sergeant!"

The drill glared around at the rest of the barracks. Most of them stood at attention, their packs on their backs. Several still frantically worked to fill their packs; they stilled at a bellow from the sergeant. He began to describe their shortcomings in great detail, covering their parentage, habits and general appearance in one sweeping appraisal; Skidmark might have been able to improve on his descriptive capability, but not by much.

Glancing around, I noted that Emily was not one of those still getting ready. As my eyes fell on her, she returned the gaze. It was steady, discerning. Appraising. I nodded to her, very slightly. She nodded back. Then we both turned eyes front, because the drill had finished lambasting those who still had to fill their packs, and was marching back up between the beds.

"Everyone!" he shouted. "Because _some _of you are not. Yet. Ready …" He paused ominously.

We waited. Some of the others looked apprehensive.

"They'll be doing extra punishment duty when they get back. But for now … we can't have you standing idle. So, you will be doing push-ups, with packs, until they have _finished packing their damn packs!"_

Most of the recruits were still staring at him in shock by the time he finished. I was on the ground, cranking out the push-ups.

"What are you waiting for?" he shouted. "Go!"

So we did push-ups, while the tardy recruits hurried to fill their packs, and get the rest of their uniforms on. With a pack on, it was a lot harder than doing it unencumbered, but I could do it. Before I'd entered ROTC, I would not have been capable.

Privately, I resolved to find the guy who finished _last_, and have a chat with him about getting his pack filled faster. But then, I figured, I was not the only one. So I shelved it, for the moment.

We did push-ups. The last pack was filled. We started on our pack march.

-ooo-

I was moving along steadily, swinging my arms, working out the kinks of the push-up session, when Emily Piggot moved up alongside me.

"Snow."

"Piggot."

"Fuckin' push-ups," she muttered.

"Fuckin' push-ups," I agreed.

She paused for a moment, then went on. "You were fast, getting geared up."

"Mm." It was true; I didn't waste my breath.

She didn't give up; nor did I did expect her to. "How did you know?"

A half-shrug, hard with the pack on my back. "Had an idea."

I could tell she was looking sideways at me. "You have a lot of ideas."

"Could say that."

"And you use my full name."

"It's your name."

"Not everyone thinks so." The bitterness in her voice was well hidden, but it was there.

* * *

Nicknames were a big thing in the recruit cadre. It was rare that a recruit got to choose their own. I had been saddled early on with "Ice Queen"; partly because of my name, and partly because I hadn't shown any interest in bunk time with any of the male recruits.

This was not to say that 'fraternisation' between male and female recruits was a permitted thing; it was most definitely out of bounds. But because the vast majority of PRT recruits were male, they couldn't justify opening another barracks room just for us. So we all slept in a section, and changed behind hung blankets, or in the toilet cubicles. Some of the women slept with the men; I just hoped they were being careful.

The nickname didn't bother me; it was both accurate and totally misleading, both of which I could make use of. Emily's nickname, on the other hand was another thing altogether.

She was shorter than me, and a little heavier. _Most _people were shorter and heavier than me. Emily wasn't skinny_,_ but nor was she fat by any reasonable description, not like she would become in twenty years. At most, she was chunky; there was more muscle there than fat. Without her unfortunate name, no-one would even have noticed it. But the weight was there, as was the name, and some unkind souls had capitalised on it. So now, to a certain section of the barracks, she was "Pig" or "the pig".

I always called her Piggot. She professed not to notice those who used the other names. I could sympathise; she wasn't going to complain, or go through channels. She was going to simply prove the bastards wrong. It was the single-mindedness that would get her through the battle with Nilbog, and thereafter, serve her well over ten years as Director of PRT ENE.

* * *

But up until now, she hadn't made any overtures. This was a break. I turned my head partially toward her. "I'm Taylor."

Her reply took so long in coming that I thought she hadn't heard me. Then she replied. "Emily."

"No talking in ranks!" bellowed the drill, three files back. It wasn't us he was talking to; others were also snatching conversations in the middle of the pack march. "If you've got breath to talk, you've got breath to go faster! On the double! Hup, hup, hup!"

We broke into a trot, and after that, there wasn't any more breath to talk.

-ooo-

"Officer track, huh?" asked Emily; we sat side by side on my bunk, shining our boots and buckles. I was a better hand with the buckles, while Emily could bring out a deeper shine with the boots.

"Yeah," I replied. "What are you going for?"

"Infantry," Emily responded, rubbing at a difficult patch. She spat on it, and rubbed again; it seemed to work better. "You?"

"Intel." I worked away at the buckle with a fingernail, picking off a piece of dirt. Slowly, I registered that she'd stopped working at the boot. I turned my head, meeting her stare. "What?"

"The fuck, Taylor?" she demanded. "You've got 'senior officer' written all over you."

I shook my head. "I don't want to command. I like to work with the big picture, figuring out what it all means."

To be honest, that was Lisa's thing rather than mine, but the plan we had evolved required me to go down this path.

Emily shook her head. "Christ fuck. You'll be wasted as an intel weenie. I've _seen_ your initial tactical scores. They're likely to try to talk you straight into a command bracket."

I shook my head. "They've got field officers already. They're weak on analysts. Especially ones with degrees in parahuman studies, psychology and criminology."

She blinked. "You've got all those?"

I nodded. "Had an idea I might need them."

"Fuck." Slowly, she began to rub at the boot again. "Well, all I can say is, if you keep having these ideas of yours, you'll be able to go wherever you like."

I grinned at her. "That's the idea."

She finished with the boot, and picked up its mate. "Fuck, do you _look _for mud puddles to wade through?"

I shrugged. "Blame the drill, not me."

"True," she agreed. "Say, just between you and me … "

I waited. "Yeah?"

"If you ever happen to have any of your little 'ideas' that I'd be interested in hearing … "

I nodded. "You'll hear."

"Thanks." _And if I can ever do you any favours,_ she didn't have to say, _consider them done._

We went back to polishing and cleaning.

-ooo-

**March 1993**

"_Aim!"_

_They aimed._

"_Fire!"_

_Nearly every rifle spoke at once._

"_Aim!"_

_They aimed._

"_Fire!"_

_This time, the barrage was a little more ragged. The drill noted with irritation that several recruits had fired before he gave the word._

"_Safe weapons!"_

_There was a series of muted clicks as each recruit snapped over the safety on his or her M-16._

"_Weapons down!"_

_Each recruit placed his weapon on the ground and lifted his hands clear of it._

_Hands clasped behind his back, the drill went strolling down the line. "When I say 'Fire', you sorry sacks of shit, I mean fire when I say so, not when you feel like it! Got it? Not half a second before, and not fifteen seconds after! Do you understand?"_

_A ragged chorus of "Yes, sergeant," answered him._

"_I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"_

"_YES, SERGEANT!"_

_He nodded. "Good. Now, let's see what sort of sorry showing you've made here."_

_Without even waiting to check to see if the weapons really were down – there was a corporal, observing the recruits from the side, to ensure that – he strode downrange, to the targets._

_"Good … good … abysmal … fair … fuck me."_

_He stopped, opposite one target, and tugged down his sunglasses so as to get a better look at it. At first glance, it seemed that only one or two shots had hit; however, on closer examination, he saw that the X-ring was a cluster of overlapping bullet-holes. He turned to face the firing line. "Whose target is this?"_

_A recruit raised her hand, from where she was kneeling on the ground. "Sergeant, that's mine. Recruit Snow, sergeant."_

_He had taken note of her before; she was serious, intent, and never needed telling twice. She also worked well with others, but tended to take charge in group situations. But this … holy __**fuck.**_

_He tugged the target free of its clips, and walked back up to the firing line with it. "Where the fuck did you learn how to shoot, Snow?"_

"_JROTC, sergeant. Winslow High, Brockton Bay."_

"_Who's the instructor there, Snow?"_

_She frowned for a moment. "Uh, Campbell, sergeant. I think his first name was Joseph."_

_He nodded slowly. "Joe Campbell. I know him. He was a good drill, in the day. I'm gonna have to send him a case of beer. Seems he's been doing his job right." He waved the target sheet. "Look very carefully at this! This is what you have to aspire to! And Snow!"_

"_Sergeant?"_

"_I want to see this __**every fucking time**__. Got it?"_

_Snow nodded. "Got it, sergeant."_

-ooo-

**April 1993**

"Taylor!"

I braced myself; Andrea was petite, but she leaped at me as though she was trying to bring me to the ground. I caught her, and she promptly wrapped her arms and legs around me, and kissed me soundly.

I grinned and kissed her back, in a somewhat more restrained fashion, although I was very glad to see her. "Wow," I observed. "It's like I was away for two years, not two months."

She giggled and put her legs down, although she kept her arms around me. "I missed you so _bad,"_ she told me. "Have you grown? It feels like you've grown."

Gladys, grinning broadly, shook her head. "No, she hasn't grown. But it looks like she's bulked out a little."

"Pack marches and push-ups," I informed her. "I can now bench more than my own weight."

Gladys snorted. "I've been able to bench your weight since forever."

"Yeah," I responded, letting go of Andrea with one hand so I could poke her in the ribs, "but that's because you're a musclebound hulk. I'm a skinny waif."

Andrea let go of me, but took firm possession of my arm. "Yeah, but you're _my_ skinny waif."

Grinning, I turned to Danny and Anne-Rose; they seemed to be staring at me in a state of slight shock. "What?"

"Wow," Danny told me. "You've … you're a _soldier."_

I nodded. "That's the way of it," I informed him. "Join the armed forces, and they tend to do that to you."

I thought that Anne-Rose was staring at my face, then I realised what was going on. "Yeah, they took it off."

"All that beautiful hair," she murmured, unconsciously touching her own tresses. Mine had been darker than hers, closer to Danny's shade, but our hair had still been very much alike.

"Yeah," I agreed. "It was a bit of a jolt to part with it, but that's the way it is." I touched my scalp beside the cap; a couple of months in, the hair was starting to grow back, but it was still not much more than a buzz-cut.

It would, I noted with inner amusement, make it a lot easier to tell us apart.

"I like the uniform," Danny noted, "but isn't it a little … ornate?"

"The uniform's _cool,"_ Andrea stated firmly.

"It's dress uniform," I informed him. "Not to be worn in the field." I shared a glance with Gladys; she knew what that was about.

"So when do you officially finish boot camp?" asked Gladys.

"Already finished," I told her. "We got two weeks of leave, before I go on to officer training. Catch up with family and friends."

"So who are we?" he asked with a grin. "Family or friends?"

"Yes," I replied with an answering grin.

Andrea laughed out loud.

-ooo-

"It'll be _fine,"_ Danny assured me.

I wasn't so certain. I hadn't spoken to Dorothy, or seen her, since I started college. Since I had met Andrea. _Eighteen months, more or less._ "Maybe this is a bad idea."

He shook his head. "No. You've got to bite the bullet, sooner or later. Find out, one way or the other."

Stepping forward, he mounted the steps and rang the doorbell. It was audible from inside the house; a few moments later, the front door opened.

George Hebert stood there; stolid, solid, as craggy and grey-bearded as ever.

"Dad," Danny told him. "Taylor's back from training."

George looked past him. "So I see," he observed.

"Good afternoon, Mr Hebert," I greeted him politely.

He frowned. "Do you intend to stand there all day?"

I swallowed. "I don't know if I'm welcome … "

"Hmph. Well, come in. This was a Christian household, the last I checked."

I nodded briefly. "Thank you."

He stepped back, allowing Danny to enter. I followed on. Andrea had chosen to stay away, with Gladys and Anne-Rose; I had agreed at the time that it was probably best with just me and Danny there, but right then, I wished I had my friends for support.

"Dot!" called out George as we entered the living room. "Company!"

Dorothy Hebert entered from the kitchen; her eyes flicked from her husband to her son, and then fixed on me.

"Who -?" she began, before she recognised me. Her face changed. "Taylor. Is that you?"

I nodded, wanting to retreat. There were few things I was scared of, but I did not want to be there.

"Yes, Mrs Hebert," I replied softly. "It's me."

She frowned sharply, looking past me. "You haven't brought _that girl_ with you, have you?"

By which she meant Andrea, of course.

I shook my head. "No. I broke things off with her when I left for basic training."

She snorted. "A simple thing to do, when you wouldn't be seeing her anyway."

Again, I shook my head. "No, ma'am. It's over between us."

Gradually, a smile crept across her face. "Good. I've always felt that you had the makings of a good Christian girl in you, Taylor. Now, you'll be coming to Sunday mass with us ..."

"No, ma'am," I stated firmly.

She stopped, and looked harder at me. "No? Well, some other time will do as well, I suppose."

"No," I repeated. "Dorothy, there is something you need to understand."

She stared at me. "Taylor?"

I took a deep breath. "I broke up with Andrea for my own reasons, not yours. I've come back to try to make peace, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to bow down to your every whim. What I had with Andrea wasn't what you thought, but you never asked, merely assumed the worst. What it _was_ is between Andrea and myself, and that's none of your business. So we've got a choice. You can accept me for who I am, what I am, with all my flaws. Or you can tell me to go, and never see me again."

Dot was staring at me, her eyes wide. "Taylor Snow!" she gasped. "How dare you speak to me in that tone of voice!"

Danny was frozen, apparently stunned by the turn of events. I glanced at George; he did not seem inclined to intervene.

"Dorothy," I responded. "Mrs Hebert. You took me in. You sheltered me. For that, I will be forever grateful. But I have grown, and I have moved on, and I no longer live under your roof. I choose the rules I live by, and I choose not to let your approval, or lack thereof, dictate the way I live. While I am your guest, I will abide by your rules. But once I walk out that door, I am no longer bound by them. Now; do I stay, or do I go?"

Dorothy continued to stare; it was George Hebert who spoke next.

"Well said, young Taylor," he told me, clapping me on the shoulder. "Sit down. I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about."

Dot's stare flicked to her husband. _"George!"_ she protested.

He gave her an irritated glare. _"What_, Dottie? The girl is our guest. Are you going to throw her out for being plain spoken? She obviously knows her own mind, and has chosen her own path. There's precious little you can do to change that, now."

Dorothy stared at George, then looked to Danny. "Do you -"

"Mom," Danny cut in patiently. "Taylor's my _friend._ I've liked her ever since we met." _Ever since I saved her life,_ was what he didn't say, and didn't have to."I had a crush on her for the longest time, but that's over with, ever since I met Anne-Rose. But I don't let who she sees, who she keeps company with, dictate whether or not I like her. I like her for _her."_

Dorothy opened her mouth, then shut it again. She was strong-willed; she would have to be, to maintain her way in a household of two males, especially where one of them was George Hebert. But nor was she stupid; she could see which way the wind was blowing. She could order me out, and I would go, but it would not stop me from seeing Danny and George outside the house, not if they chose to do so. So she chose the lesser of two evils.

"Very well, Taylor," she allowed. "Please stay; I'll put the teapot on."

"Thank you, Mrs Hebert," I replied.

She gave me a dry look. "And now it's back to 'Mrs Hebert'. Am I only Dorothy when you are chastising me?"

I hid a smile. "No. Thank you, Dorothy. It will be a pleasure to stay."

So we sat, and I drank tea, and we chatted.

-ooo-

"I think Dad was impressed," Danny commented as we walked back to his car. "Even proud."

I blinked. George had given me the third degree, almost, about my time in basic training. Pack marches, hand to hand combat, shooting, even down to cleaning the barracks; he had wanted to hear about it all.

"I felt like he was testing me," I replied. "Making sure I actually went and did it, instead of just going away for ten weeks."

He shook his head with a chuckle. "No. He wanted to see how _you_ felt about it, about doing it. Being in the military. He was going to join the Navy, once, when he was about my age, but he never really got around to it. But you're almost family, as far as he's concerned, and he's proud that you're doing it. He just wants to be sure that you think you're doing the right thing."

I nodded. "It's the right thing, all right. I'm where I've got to be, in order to do the things I have to do." I glanced sideways at him. "How are things with you and Anne-Rose?"

He smiled. "Pretty good. I don't have enough money for us to even think about getting married quite yet, but maybe by the end of the year." He paused. "She's getting heat off of her parents for letting me 'distract' her from her studies. When it's really her not being sure if she wants to keep up with her law studies."

"Talk to her," I suggested. "Ask her what she really wants to do. What she sees herself doing in ten years." I squeezed his arm. "Make sure she knows she has your full support."

He frowned. "She already knows that."

I raised an eyebrow. "Have you actually told her, in so many words?"

"Uh, no, but -"

I shook my head and smiled. "No buts. Tell her. She needs to hear it from you. More than once, if that's what it takes."

"Well, if you're sure … " he answered doubtfully.

I rolled my eyes. "Do I have to threaten to beat you up? Because I'll do it."

He pretended to cringe. "Nope, nope. All good here. I'll tell her. I promise."

I grinned, and slugged him gently on the shoulder. "Good boy."

"Ow." He rubbed his shoulder. "I think you left a bruise."

"Wimp."

"Bully."

"Want me to hit you again?"

"Nope."

-ooo-

Andrea raised her glass. "It's good to have you home."

I raised mine in return, and took a sip. The wine was dry and astringent; it still wasn't really to my taste. "It's good to _be_ home."

I smiled at Andrea; she had put candles on the table, and we ate in their soft yellow glow.

I cleared my throat. "I hope you haven't been _too_ lonely while I've been gone."

Giggling, she shook her head. "Nope. You're still the only one for me, but I've been consoling myself with other college girls. Usually tall brunettes, for some reason."

I raised an eyebrow. "Not Anne-Rose, I hope."

She giggled again. I got the impression that the wine was getting to her. "Oh, no. Since she met Danny, she's been silly in love. I think I was just a long-term experiment, and now she's settled down."

I took another bite of the steak, and chewed. After military rations, it was _heavenly._ Andrea watched me. I looked back at her. "What?"

"So, have _you_ found anyone else yet?" she teased.

I shook my head. "Haven't been looking. Not really interested."

"What, guys _or_ girls?" she asked, honestly curious.

I shook my head. "Before I met you, my entire sexual experience was contained to one month. I had a boyfriend, who was really, really needy. It was kind of why I became his girlfriend. We had sex a few times, but then … well, then things changed, so I had to leave him."

She raised an eyebrow. "That sounds kind of … cold."

"Oh, there's more to it," I hastened to add. "I always liked him, before, but he considered me to be more like a sister. Until just after the thing happened that screwed with his head. He confessed that he was thinking about me more than he should. And after … well, I had to leave him, because I was kind of going to jail. But I felt that he thought that I abandoned him while he still needed me."

"Wow," Andrea observed. "I'm gonna _have_ to get the full story of this out of you someday."

I chuckled. "Wanna hear the really bizarre part?"

She grinned. "Hit me."

"He gets born in about two months."

She blinked. "Your boyfriend?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

She shook her head. "Okay, that's … really weird. Yeah. I can't top that."

I put my glass down and stood up from the table. She stood up, too.

"This was a wonderful meal, and I've really enjoyed being back with you," I told her, and held her tight. "But I'm shipping out in the morning, so I think I'll go to bed."

"Oooh."

"To sleep," I clarified.

"Awww."

I relented a little. "But you can snuggle up anyway."

"Yay!"

-ooo-

**May 1993**

"Cadet Snow, the board would like to know why it is that you have chosen Intelligence for your career branch."

I stood at attention, thumbs along the seam-lines of my uniform trousers. Facing me were five officers; three men and two women. It was a male officer who had spoken; he wore the insignia of a major-general.

"Sir," I replied. "It's where I feel most comfortable. I'm good with data analysis."

One of the women – her rank insignia marked her out as a bird colonel – tapped a sheet of paper on her desk. "These results state otherwise, Cadet Snow. Your tactical skills are high, and you have proven over and over that you can lead men in the field."

"Nonetheless, ma'am," I responded respectfully, "I do not feel that that is where my strengths lie."

Which was crap; it was _exactly_ where they lay. Even after losing my powers, I had maintained a certain knack for multi-tasking, and in getting people to follow orders. A field officer in the PRT? I would_rock._

But it wasn't where I needed to be.

I needed to be behind the scenes, managing matters my own way.

"And you believe that they lie in the field of intelligence gathering and analysis?" asked another one of the men, a general.

"Sir, yes I do," I agreed.

There was a long pause, then the major-general spoke. "Dismissed, Cadet. We will consider your application."

"Sir." I saluted, turned, and marched from the room.

-ooo-

"_So, what do you think?"_

_The female colonel looked at the major-general, who had asked the question._

"_Sir," she started carefully, "she's a natural in the field. I've looked at her scores, from JROTC up to the present day, and she's gone from strength to strength."_

_The other woman, who had not spoken so far, cleared her throat. "May I make a comment here?"_

"_Of course," the major-general allowed. "It's what we're here for."_

_The woman nodded. "Well, her field scores __**are**__ exceptional, as are her basic combat capabilities – I have a drill sergeant who wants to send her to sniper school – but have you actually looked at her intelligence analysis scores?"_

_The major-general frowned. "A little, but -"_

_The woman pushed a stack of papers his way. "Look at this. She's able to analyse a tactical situation and find all the weak points. The write-ups of these field exercises shows that. Plus, here's her final Criminology paper. You might want to read it."_

"_I glanced at it," the female bird colonel stated dismissively. "Her professor gave her a barely passing mark."_

_The other woman shook her head. "I suspect there's some animosity there. Read it. She reaches some startling conclusions regarding the future of crime and parahumans in the region of Brockton Bay, over the next few years."_

"_Really?" asked the major-general. "And how do they stand up so far?"_

"_Rather well, actually," was the answer. "She's taken many factors into account, and it makes a fascinating piece of reading."_

"_Hm," replied the major-general. "Get a copy to each of us. We'll read it over, and reconvene in the morning for our decision."_

-ooo-

"Cadet Snow."

"Sir."

"We have considered your application, and have decided that it has merit. You may continue along your chosen career branch."

"Thank you, sir."

"Dismissed."

"Sir."

I saluted, turned, and marched out of the room. Behind me, the doors closed.

_Another step on the path._

But there were many, many more to go.

-ooo-

**July 1993**

"and the orders of the officers appointed over me."

"_and the orders of the officers appointed over me."_

"according to the regulations of the PRTCJ."

"_according to the regulations of the PRTCJ."_

"So help me God."

"_So help me God."_

The wind cut across the open parade ground, relieving some of the effect of the hot summer sun. After we finished taking the oath, I wanted to look around me, at my fellow cadets, who had just become officers in the Parahuman Response Teams, just as I had. There were far fewer than we had started out with; most of the women and some of the men had washed out, either through injury or personal choice. One woman had gotten pregnant. One man had come down with a galloping case of venereal disease, acquired off-base.

Those of us that were left stood tall, wearing our dress blues proudly. Each of us wore our career and rank insignia on our uniforms; mine indicated that I was a lieutenant in the Intelligence Corps. Normally, graduating cadets entered the military as second lieutenants; given my ROTC scores, and my overall performance during my time in training – helped not a little by Lisa's guidance and assistance – I had skipped a pay grade.

_Wow,_ I thought. _Dad would be so proud._

* * *

After the ceremony was over, I felt a touch at my elbow. Glancing around I saw it was Emily Piggot.

"Lieutenant," I greeted her, with a grin.

"Lieutenant," she replied, with a smile of her own.

We ignored the fact that she was a second looey; there would be time enough for that, later. "So, where are you going on from here?"

She considered. "Advanced infantry course, I think. Maybe counter-terrorism. Then I start climbing the ladder. You?"

"I guess I go out in the field and learn how to be a real spook," I replied cheerfully. "Hey, your folks here?"

She shook her head. "They couldn't make it."

"Come meet my friends, then," I invited her.

She tilted her head. "You sure?"

I nodded vigorously. "Sure I'm sure. Remember my rifle scores?"

She rolled her eyes. "You were always too damn good on the range."

I grinned. "Come on, I'll introduce you to my best friend. She's an even better shot than me."

"Christ," she muttered as I pulled her along. "What's she do? Army sniper?"

"Nope," I replied. "She's a high school teacher."

The look on Emily's face was _golden._

* * *

End of Part 3-0


	16. Chapter 16

\o/

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 3-1: Meeting Again for the First Time

* * *

_The zombie lurched toward me, tried to grab me. Its mouth was open in a near-silent groan; I wrinkled my nose at the stench._

_I brought my sword up and around in a glittering arc; the zombie took one more step, then its head slid from its shoulders. Spinning around, I kicked an importunate member of the undead in the middle of the chest, beheaded a third, and then bisected the one I had kicked. Twirling the sword in an intricate move designed to remove zombie bits from the blade, I paused to catch my breath._

_Lisa was doing well also; instead of a sword, she carried two long knives. As I watched, she pirouetted between two zombies, stabbing each of them in the eye-socket as she went past. A third one, reaching for her, lost both its hands in quick succession before she scissored its head off._

_A groan behind me reminded me that I was not yet out of danger; I stabbed up and back, barely bothering to turn, and then pulled my sword out again. As the tip of the blade slid out of the zombie's mouth, it collapsed bonelessly to the ground._

_Lisa came running toward me, knives held up ready to throw. I crouched; she threw. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw two more walkers, each currently decorated with a knife hilt in the middle of the forehead. Their shrivelled eyes tried to cross, in an attempt to look at their new fashion accessories, before they both fell over backward._

_**Showoff,**__ I accused her with a grin._

_She smirked at me as she retrieved her knives. "Yeah, but it's fun."_

_**Oh, so very true,**__ I admitted._

_After cleaning the blades on a not-too-filthy strip of cloth torn from the closest zombie's shirt, she put them away and pulled a mini-tablet from the pocket of her cargo pants. "Latest stuff to send to Andrea. She's doing well, by the way, but she misses you."_

_I sighed. __**I miss her too. More than I thought I would. More than I missed Brian, to be honest.**_

_She shrugged. "I could model her in here for you, if you want."_

_I was tempted, but shook my head. __**Thanks, but no thanks. I need to keep a clear separation. And besides, it might get weird.**_

"_Your loss. Oh, and there's a note on there for you."_

_I started to scan the data on the tablet, but she shook her head. "No time. Kiss before you go?"_

_I put my arms around her, pulled her close, and kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood. She snuggled against me, and I closed my eyes for a moment -_

-ooo-

**August 1993**

\- and opened them in my barracks room, sitting at my desk.

There were two pads in front of me, each with a chatty letter covering the top two pages. Each had been carefully, even meticulously, written while I was communing with Lisa. One was directed to Danny, and the other to Gladys. My intent was to write two of these letters and send them away every two weeks; I had written the first two on my first night back as a fully commissioned officer.

Thus, the letters were not unusual; it was the scrap of notepaper, resting on the letter to Gladys, that caught my attention. It held five words that chilled me to the bone.

_Intruder in the security office._

I replaced the pads in my desk drawer, then stuffed the notepaper in my mouth. As I chewed and swallowed it, I took my pistol belt and buckled it on.

I wasn't duty officer on that day, but I had the feeling that Lisa didn't intend for me to go through regular channels on this. Accordingly, then, I exited my barracks room, locked it behind me, and headed for the security office at the double.

The PRT was still finding its feet; there were bases established in each of the major cities, and they were working on the smaller capital cities. I was currently based in Chicago, in what used to be an old school; it wasn't perfect, but it was certainly better than nothing. The security office was in a different building, but it was supposed to be guarded. It held filing cabinet after filing cabinet, holding all the classified records of known parahumans, as well as the computer terminal that linked us through the nascent DoD internet to all the other PRT bases.

The summer breeze cut across the campus as I hurried between buildings. Chicago would never be _hot_, but today was warmer than some. I supposed that growing up in Brockton Bay had spoiled me a little.

Entering the building containing the security office, I frowned. There should be officers and NCOs stationed here, primary lines of defence, but they were conspicuously absent. I moved faster.

Outside the door to the security room itself, an armed MP sergeant stood, at parade rest. I wasn't reassured. There was something seriously wrong here, especially when he didn't come to attention or salute when I approached.

I stopped right in front of him. "Sergeant. Has anyone entered this room in the last hour?"

His eyes focused on me, and he finally saluted. "No, ma'am." He hesitated, then added, "No-one important."

I fixed on that. "No-one important, or no-one at all?"

His eyes shifted. "I … " He went for his pistol, while reaching for me with his left hand.

I took his wrist, spun him around, and slammed him face-first into the wall opposite. Then I kicked him behind the knee, dropped him to the ground, and plucked the gun from his unresisting hand. Taking the cuffs from his belt, I secured his hands behind him, then stood up once more. _That_, I decided, _was much easier than it should have been_. His ingrained duty had been fighting all the way against whatever orders he had been given.

The sergeant's gun in my left hand, my own pistol in my right, I kicked open the door to the security room. Armed and ready for anything, I leaped in through the doorway, dropping to the floor and rolling, then came up on to one knee, both guns aimed at the room's sole occupant.

The guy feeding files into the shredder looked over at me. "I'll be done in a moment," he told me mildly. "If you can wait outside till then?"

I stood up and holstered my pistol; not sure what to do with the sergeant's gun, I stuck it in my belt. "Okay, sure," I agreed, brushing myself off. "Sorry to have bothered you."

He nodded. "Oh, could you leave that gun here please?" he requested. "I might need it."

"Not a problem," I agreed, pulling the sergeant's pistol from my belt and putting it on the desk. "Anything else I can do for you?"

"No, that'll be fine," he told me. "You can go now."

I turned and exited the room, pulling the door closed behind me. As I did so, I became aware of something wrong. Dimly, in the back of my head, someone was screaming at me. I couldn't make it out. Frowning, I concentrated -

\- my right arm moved, without my volition, pulling the pistol from my holster and firing three shots into the closed door -

\- and suddenly it was as if a fog had lifted from my mind. _There was an intruder in the security office!_

I looked down at the smoking gun in my hand. I had no recollection of choosing to pull it or fire it. Slowly, cautiously, I pushed open the door. In the back of my mind, I made a mental note to have the lock fixed. Slumped over the shredder was a nondescript man in his twenties, wearing clothes that might look like a uniform at a distance, with three closely-spaced bullet holes in his back. I approached carefully; there was a pistol within reach of him on the desk. I vaguely recalled putting it there, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Not until I had hooked the gun away from him with a pen I found on the desk did I begin to relax. From the placement of the bullet holes, he was either severely injured or dead, but I checked his pulse anyway. He was gone.

At my touch, he slid to the ground, crumpling in an untidy heap. I looked down at him, then heard boots thundering down the hallway. Shouts of alarm rose as someone saw the handcuffed MP sergeant.

"Is anyone in there?" a voice shouted.

"Yes!" I called back at once. "Lieutenant Snow! We also have an intruder; he's dead!"

"Are you armed?"

"Yes!" I replied. "There are two pistols in here!"

"Slide them out one at a time, then get down on your knees, hands clasped behind your neck!"

I complied, placing the pistols on 'safe' before sliding them out. "This one's mine!" I called. "Careful handling it; I shot the intruder with it." One went out, then the other. Then I got down on my knees. "Ready," I told them.

They were careful anyway; I approved. First, rifle barrels showed around the doorframe, and then, cautiously, the soldiers carrying them. They entered, rifles swivelling to covering the room, including me. I stayed kneeling while they searched me and checked the dead guy. Even though I was led out under guard, I wasn't too worried; I had an idea of what was coming next. The building would be placed on lockdown, and each and every one of us would be interrogated to find out what had happened.

I already had a fairly good idea of what that was.

-ooo-

**A Day Later**

"We found Lieutenant Wyzowski in the security office; his throat had been cut and he'd been stuffed behind a filing cabinet," the MP reported. "He was security officer for the day; he had the keys to get in. We located the keys on the body of the deceased."

Major Hamilton nodded, then turned to me. "Lieutenant Snow; did you know that Wyzowski was in the security office?"

I remained standing at attention. "Sir, no, sir," I replied. "I only knew that there was something wrong in the building."

His head came up at that. "Something wrong? Please elucidate, Lieutenant."

"Sir. I was passing by the building, and decided to look it over. On entering, neither the MP guard nor the NCO at the front desk were in evidence. This did not look right, so I investigated further. The only person I found was Sergeant Kinsey, at the door to the security room. He did not react to me as I approached, so I asked him some questions. He attempted to attack me, I subdued him, then investigated the security office."

Hamilton frowned. "Lieutenant, Sergeant Kinsey teaches hand to hand combat. I understand that you are good at it, but Kinsey outmasses you twice over, and has ten years of experience on you. I find it hard to believe that you could overpower him so easily."

"Sir, yes, sir," I responded. "I believe that Kinsey was under outside compulsion to not allow anyone to investigate the security office while the intruder was inside. However, he is a loyal soldier, and he was fighting to throw off the compulsion. It was only his strength of will that allowed me to beat him so quickly."

Hamilton stared at me, as if I had begun reciting the Lord's Prayer in Urdu. "Outside compulsion? Strength of will?" he repeated. "What, exactly, are you referring to?"

I took a deep breath. "Sir, are you aware of the parahuman -" I was careful not to use the word 'cape', even now - "power category known as 'Master'? Or 'Stranger'?"

He frowned. "I'd heard _something_ about it." The lightbulb visibly went on, over his head. "You're saying that the intruder was a Master, or maybe a Stranger. That he was controlling Kinsey."

"Yes, sir. I suspect both. He was able to simply pretend to not be important enough to notice by everyone who saw him. And he was able to give orders that people followed without question. Once he was dead, of course ..."

He was nodding now. "The compulsion went away. I see." He peered closely at me. "I've looked over your jacket, Snow. You studied this sort of thing in college?"

"I did, sir. I grew up fascinated by the parahuman phenomenon -" true enough - "and when I reached college, they had a class on the subject. So I took it."

"Indeed." He steepled his fingers before him. "Which leads us to the most important question, Snow. You were in the room with this man. He gave you orders, which you followed. To give him Kinsey's pistol, and to leave the room. Orders which you followed without question."

"Sir, yes, sir," I agreed. "I was under his compulsion." I knew what was coming next.

"So it seems," he went on. "But why, if you were under his compulsion, did you then draw your own service weapon and fire it through the door? How did you break his compulsion?"

"I've been wondering about that myself, sir," I 'confessed'. "I suspect that it has to do with an incident that happened some years ago. I was involved in a fairly traumatic event, a disaster at sea, and I lost some of my memories. Afterward, at my doctor's suggestion, I took up self-hypnosis and even managed to regain some of my lost past."

I took a deep breath. "Since then, I have retained the habit of putting myself under for a few minutes at a time, when at my leisure. It helps to centre my mind and aids in concentration. I suspect that it has given me a stronger connection to my unconscious mind than most, and when I was undergoing that level of inner conflict, such as Sergeant Kinsey was, I managed to act without consciously thinking about it, once I was out of line of sight. Just as Kinsey did."

I actually had my own ideas about what had really happened, but I'd have to wait till later to investigate.

Hamilton was nodding slowly. "Yes, I've read about that incident. Self-hypnosis, hmm? It sounds like a neat trick. Could you teach it to others?"

I paused, as if thinking about it. "I could try, sir, but it's not something I picked up overnight. I've been doing it for years."

I had known that Hamilton had perused my past; going into the intelligence community, I would necessarily be scrutinised more closely than most. Therefore I had prepared the way, using the resources of my growing financial empire to have false records inserted here and there, so that investigators would find just enough of a fragmentary paper trail to ascertain that yes, Taylor Snow had been born a citizen of the United States. Parents were of course dead, with no relatives close enough to recall little Taylor, but that was the way of things sometimes, wasn't it?

"Hm," responded Hamilton. He nodded to his aide de camp. "Make a note. It might be something we can look into. We can't have these Masters and Strangers simply waltzing in and destroying our files at will. It would destroy the organisation before we even got started."

I noted the 'we'. The questioning was no longer adversarial; I had been included in the major's worldview of 'us'. "Sir, a suggestion."

"Yes, Lieutenant Snow?"

I took a breath. "I can look into devising protocols to use, to detect cases of people being manipulated by Masters and Strangers. There are quite a few case studies on record, and I've kept up with the literature."

His gaze upon me sharpened. "That sounds like a very interesting suggestion, Lieutenant Snow. I believe it has merit. What resources would you be needing?"

"Relatively few, sir," I responded. "Access to all the latest research, mainly." I paused. "And if I could have Sergeant Kinsey assigned to me, sir?"

He frowned. "Kinsey? Why him?"

"Because, sir, he's the one person on this base that I _know_ has a fighting chance to resist a Master's influence. I'd prefer to have him at my back, protecting it, because once these protocols get out, I may just find myself with a target painted on it."

He rubbed his chin. "But he's already been affected by this Master mind-control. Wouldn't he be more susceptible, the next time?"

_With Regent, he would have been, yes. _"Not necessarily, sir," I replied. "By your same logic, he's been exposed to it, so he's just as likely to be _more_ capable of fighting it off, the next time he encounters a Master."

He nodded, slowly. "Your point is valid, Lieutenant Snow." An expression creased his lined face that in another man might have been mistaken for a smile. "You've got him."

"Thank you, sir."

"No, Lieutenant. Thank _you._ Dismissed."

I saluted, about-faced, and marched from the room. Already, in my head, I was crafting the Master/Stranger protocols that they would need.

_The PRT may have been a sieve early on, but by God, it's going to be airtight by the time I'm done with it._

* * *

"Sergeant Kinsey."

Kinsey looked up from where he had been reclining on his bunk. "Lieutenant Snow?" He still, I saw, had a bruise on his face from where I had slammed him into the wall.

"Up and at 'em, sergeant. You're with me, now."

Blinking his confusion, he got to his feet. "I've been taken off of regular duties, since that thing in the security office, ma'am. I'm not sure -"

"I've dealt with that, Kinsey. I've had you assigned to me. I needed a staff, and you're it."

My brisk tone must have surprised him. "But I attacked you -"

I shook my head. "No, Kinsey, you _tried_ to attack me. And failed. You were under outside control. I'm going to be making sure that sort of thing doesn't happen in the PRT again, and I want you helping me."

Now a frown creased that broad, battered face. "How can I help you, ma'am? I'm no brain."

I recognised the lack of surety; he'd lost control of his body, his capabilities. He'd been moved around like a puppet, forced to act against his sworn duty, and it had wounded him, inside. It was a lesser version of what had happened to Brian, after Bonesaw had taken him apart. Hopefully, I could help restore Kinsey's confidence without needing to go to the lengths that I had with Brian.

"You can guard my back, Sergeant," I told him, putting the snap of command into my voice. He straightened to attention without meaning to. "I can't watch my back every second of every day, and there are going to be some very angry Masters and Strangers out there, once we start using the protocols that I'll be devising."

"But I _didn't_ fight them off," he protested. "I tried to _attack_ you."

"And failed, which shows how much you were fighting back," I pointed out. "Or can't you kick ass on the mat, any more?" My tone was deliberately challenging, now.

His eyes narrowed, his pride stung. "Any time the Lieutenant wishes to try her hand at a return match," he retorted, "I'm ready to accommodate her."

I smiled tightly. "That's exactly what I wanted to hear, Sergeant. Because not only will you be guarding my back, but you'll be showing me every trick you've got. I suspect that, sooner or later, I'll need them."

Sergeant James Kinsey came to full attention and gave me a parade-ground salute. "Ma'am," he declared, "I am at your disposal."

I returned the salute. "At ease, Sergeant," I told him. "Now let's go; we've got work to do."

-ooo-

_I lifted the drink from its holder on the side of my floating pool lounge and tasted it; it was delicious and tart. Over our heads, beyond the transparisteel dome, the starfield slowly wheeled. Every three minutes, the sun passed overhead, sending sparkles reflecting from the water all around us. I pushed my sunglasses down slightly, so I could look over them at Lisa._

_She was floating on a similar lounge, but her drink had more fruit in it. Both of us wore spectacularly skimpy swimsuits, and quite a lot of sunscreen; outside the atmosphere, it was easy to get a wicked sunburn. Lisa was already well tanned._

_**So spill.**_

_She raised an eyebrow. "Spill what?"_

_**How were you able to take over my body?**_

_She took a sip from her drink, then mustered an innocent look. I didn't trust it for an instant. "Take over your body? Would I do a thing like that?"_

_**Given that you already did, the answer would be 'yes'.**_

_She sighed, putting her glass down. "Okay, fine, yes I did. Kind of."_

_**Kind of?**_

"_It was a special case. You know how you do that automatic writing thing?"_

_I nodded. It was how I wrote the letters to Gladys and Danny. __**But that's when I'm in a trance.**_

"_And you were nearly in a trance right then. Your conscious mind was suppressed to the point that you were nearly under already; I just gave you a bit of a push, and grabbed control. I couldn't hold on for long – you weren't __**really**__ under – but I managed for long enough to shoot that bastard."_

_**So who was he, anyway?**_

_She grinned her fox-like grin. "You've heard of Nice Guy?"_

_My jaw dropped. __**Holy shit. I killed **_**Nice Guy**_**?**_

"_The one and only."_

_**But he's supposed to be a member of the Nine.**_

_She nodded. "He was going around the country, destroying files on the members of the Nine, to make it harder for the PRT to get a grip on them. Your base was the fourth one he'd hit."_

_**And we'd heard nothing,**__ I marvelled. I stretched out on the lounge and finished my drink._

"_One of the perks of being a powerful Master/Stranger," she agreed._

_Raising myself on one elbow, I looked at her. __**Will this damage our plans for later?**_

_She grinned again. "Already factored in."_

_**Excellent.**_

_A klaxon blared. Lisa sighed. "Back to work."_

_She rolled off her lounge into the water; I followed suit. The oxywater allowed us to breathe as we swam down, down to the airlock at the bottom of the pool. We cycled through, stepping into a busy corridor. A harried-looking ensign stood there at attention; he saluted Lisa, back held rigidly straight._

"_Commander Wilbourn, the Brak have returned," he reported. "We need you to lead us out against them." He gave her a beseeching look. "You're our only hope."_

_I must have snickered, because Lisa shot me a stern look. "__**They**__ believe it," she murmured. "Far be it from me to disabuse them of the notion." She touched an inconspicuous button set into the shoulder-strap of her swimsuit; immediately, it shimmered and became a full military flight suit._

"_Go save the world yet again," I told her with a grin. "Kiss before you go?"_

_She smiled, and pulled my face down to hers. Her lips tasted of dust and blood._

-ooo-

Kinsey and I circled each other on the mat, eyeing each other warily. He was bigger than I was, by a factor of two or three, but I was a little taller. I was also a little faster, but there wasn't much in it. Kinsey, just gone thirty, was horrendously fit and very strong. What he didn't know about hand to hand dirty fighting wasn't really worth knowing.

This wasn't to say that I was a total novice; I'd had training from Brian, once upon a time, backed up by real-world experience on the streets of Brockton Bay. But Brian was a dabbler; trained primarily in boxing, he had gone into other fighting forms, just to pick up a little from each of them. At seventeen, he'd been good for his age and weight group. Against Kinsey, he wouldn't have had a chance, assuming he didn't use his powers.

Kinsey moved in, moving cautiously. He'd learned caution in our first few bouts; while he was the better fighter, I still had a few tricks, and I used them ruthlessly. He flicked out a kick at my kneecap, watching my eyes. His foot wouldn't lift high enough to grab, so I pivoted, dropped, and swept a leg at his rear foot. I connected, but he was already falling; I realised that he'd decoyed me into going down so that he could get me on the ground.

Rolling to the side, I raised a knee so that he'd wind himself on it when he landed on me. He twisted, taking my knee on his hip, but one brawny arm still encircled my ribs. I started the counter immediately, and when the flurry of motion ceased, we were in a deadlock; I had his arm stretched out in a bar, but he held my leg twisted at a most uncomfortable angle.

We paused for a long moment, then I spoke up. "Draw, Sergeant?"

He nodded. "Draw, Lieutenant. Go again?"

"Go again." We released each other and rolled apart. "I'm not even going to pretend that I got the drop on you that time, Sergeant. Something's on your mind. What's the matter?"

He looked troubled as we came to our feet. "I think someone's snooping around, Lieutenant. Checking you out. Not going through regular channels. It's got me worried."

I shook my head. "It's fine. A security thing. Just do your job, and I'll be fine."

He nodded, once. "If the Lieutenant says so."

I returned the nod. "I say so."

"Good. Then let's see how that should've gone."

We moved together again.

Predictably, this time, I didn't do nearly as well.

-ooo-

**September 1993**

_Hamilton's phone rang; he picked it up. "Major Hamilton."_

_**"Sir, I have a call for you on the secure line."**_

_Hamilton put the receiver down and pressed a red button set into the phone before picking it up again. He heard the squeal of encrypted lines synchronising, then the line became quiet. "Hamilton here."_

_**"Captain Michaels, reporting."**_

_"Michaels. What do you have?"_

_**"An extensive written report, sir, but I can give you the gist over the phone."**_

_"Fire away."_

_**"It took a bit of digging, sir, but we found a paper trail. The yachts docked at Savannah on their way north, and it seems that Snow joined them there, as a deck hand, off the books. Underage, you see."**_

_Hamilton made notes. "Not exactly unknown. Go on."_

_**"Backtracking from there, we have notes on police blotters regarding a girl of her description travelling through. No arrests, no fingerprinting, just warned and moved along."**_

_"That fits with what we already have."_

_**"The trail curls around a bit there. The people we have earmarked as her parents moved around a bit. They spent some time in and around Brockton Bay, but didn't form lasting connections. Snow apparently had latent memories of the city when she was pulled from the water."**_

_"Yes; I read Doctor Veder's report, too. So you're saying she was travelling around with her parents?"_

_**"So it seems, sir. They died in a traffic accident when she was quite young; we managed to find the orphanage that she was sent to. It's since closed down, but we got hold of some of the paperwork concerning her time there. Unfortunately, we were not able to locate the name of the family that adopted her. Nor could we find a copy of her birth certificate, just a notation that one had been deposited in the registry office in Boca Raton. Which has since been destroyed by fire."**_

_Hamilton sighed. "Well, at least we have a partial picture of the life story of our talented Lieutenant Snow. It's no surprise, given that she's so self-reliant. What have you uncovered about her life in Brockton Bay?"_

_**"That she was entirely up front and honest in her self-assessment, sir. She lived for two years with the Heberts, the family of the boy who saved her life. By all accounts, she formed a close friendship with him, but there are no romantic overtones there."**_

_"Any truth to the rumours that she may be a practising homosexual?" Hamilton hated asking the question, but any crack, any chink, in the integrity of his officers had to be examined. He had nothing against gays or lesbians, but the practice was strictly forbidden in the armed forces. As a result, homosexuals, however blameless, could be blackmailed into betraying their country._

_**"A Ms Gladys Harvey was her closest friend in high school and went through college with her. There is no evidence of an improper relationship there; Harvey is currently engaged to her long-time boyfriend, Franklin Knott."**_

_He paused. __**"However, her roommate throughout college was one Andrea Campbell, who was and is an openly practising lesbian. All indications were that they were in a very close relationship, not inconsistent with a romantic pairing. One of her professors, who did not wish to be named, confirmed this. He was very vocal about it. Also, outside of college, they rented a shared apartment."**_

_Hamilton let out a sigh. "And now?"_

_**"Upon completing recruit training and being commissioned, Lieutenant Snow cut off the relationship. While she writes regularly to Hebert and Harvey, she has written perhaps three letters to Ms Campbell, all of them devoid of any romantic feeling. Her name has also been removed from the lease on the apartment."**_

"_What does she write to Hebert and Harvey about?"_

"_**Nothing untoward, sir. She leaves no indication of where she is, or what she's doing. She is quite careful about that."**_

_"Your personal judgement on the situation?"_

_**"My read on it, sir, is that the liaison between Lieutenant Snow and Ms Campbell was nothing more than the experimentation of a young woman away from the strictures of home for the first time. The Heberts are devout Christians, you see."**_

_Hamilton made another note. "Indeed. Regarding the Campbell girl, do you believe that there are any bad feelings arising from the split?"_

"_**Not that I can see, sir. It appears to have been entirely amicable on both sides. For her part, Ms Campbell occasionally sees Mr Hebert and Ms Harvey on social occasions. As an interesting aside, Mr Hebert is seeing a young woman who bears a remarkable likeness to Lieutenant Snow."**_

"_Interesting, yes, but probably irrelevant. What about Lieutenant Snow's behaviour since enlisting?"_

_**"Absolutely professional. She has neither made advances toward any officers - or enlisted, for that matter - or accepted such advances. While she takes regular physical combat training with a Sergeant Kinsey, there is nothing unprofessional between them. She does correspond with a few friends she made in recruit training, but there is no evidence of any improper leanings there, either."**_

_"Does she meet with anyone off duty? In or out of the service?"_

_**"Not that I can determine. She may as well be a nun. I could wish that we had more like her."**_

_Hamilton cleared his throat. "Well. Be that as it may. Any progress on the last query I had; specifically, the incident we had last month, and Snow's part in it?"_

_**"As you know, sir, the science to determine whether someone has parahuman powers is still in its infancy. The best I can tell you is that there is anecdotal evidence pointing at a high level of intuitive capability; she made much use of that in JROTC and ROTC, during tactical exercises."**_

_"Any indication of more than human ability in that line? Clear evidence of clairvoyant or telepathic activity, or whatever the big brains are calling it these days?"_

_**"None, sir, but you and I both know that even if she did have such capability, it would not be hard to dumb it down to avoid suspicion."**_

_"Or she could simply be very intuitive. We might be overthinking the whole thing." Hamilton was thinking out loud now. "After all, isn't intuition in an officer something we prize?"_

_**"That's very true, sir."**_

_"Also, she was visibly upset when we found Wyzowski. If she were truly clairvoyant, surely she would have arrived in time to save his life, or at least have known about him?"_

_**"I don't know about that, sir. But one question. She was due to graduate this year, but she pushed for early graduation, before Christmas. Before ... that **_**thing**_** emerged, in Iran. Before the PRT was formed."**_

_Michaels paused; Hamilton waited. "Yes?"_

_**"The question I would like to ask her, sir, is ... how did she **_**know**_**? How did she know to graduate early, to be ready to enlist when the PRT was formed?"**_

_Hamilton leafed through the folders on his desk. "I've actually got that somewhere here. Someone did ask her, during her initial psych exam. The question came up, and she answered it without hesitation." He turned over a sheet of paper. "Ah, here we are. She said, and I quote, 'I just had a feeling.' Does that answer your question?"_

_All Michaels said was, __**"Intuitive."**_

_"Indeed," agreed Hamilton. "She was studying the parahuman phenomenon, along with her other courses, and somewhere along the line she got the feeling that something big, something bad was about to happen. She has proven herself capable of taking the most tenuous of data and building a complete picture out of them. Maybe she just saw this coming before anyone else did?"_

* * *

_"It still doesn't prove that she's __**not**__ a parahuman, sir," Michaels reminded him._

_**"Do you have anything to prove that she is, Captain?"**__ Hamilton asked sharply._

_"No, sir," replied Michaels promptly. "Nothing explicit, or even implicit."_

_**"Well then,"**__ Hamilton told him. __**"Keep an eye out for any irregularities, but for the moment, we're going to treat her just the same as any other officer. She helped us dodge a huge bullet, and she does not deserve to be singled out just because she's good at her job."**_

_"Yes, sir,"acknowledged Michaels, tactfully not mentioning that the investigation that Hamilton had set him on had been aimed at doing precisely that._

_**"Good work, Michaels,"**__ Hamilton stated. __**"You've done well."**_

_"Thank you, sir."_

_**"Hamilton, out."**__ And the line went dead._

_Michaels put the phone down. "Lieutenant!" he called._

_The lieutenant, a tall thin scarecrow of a man, entered his office. "Yes, sir?"_

_"Take these files back to storage. And just by the way, the major said you did well on this investigation."_

_The lieutenant saluted. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.". He scooped up the files and started from the office. At the door, he paused and looked back. "Ah, sir, what further action on the subject?"_

_Michaels waved a hand. "No further action, Lieutenant. She's doing a good job; we leave her alone."_

_"Very good, sir.". The lieutenant headed on back to his desk with the files. He paused there for a moment, perusing them._

_"So, Lieutenant Snow is Intelligence's new fair-haired child, hmm? Well, well, well." He tapped the photo on the jacket with one fingernail. "We might need to get to know each other a little better, in future."_

_Lieutenant Thomas Calvert straightened the files, and called for a sergeant to convey them back to Records._

-ooo-

**October 1993**

"Attennnn-_hut!"_

Major Hamilton barked the order; I went to rigid attention, as did Sergeant Kinsey. Director Rankine rose from behind his desk, and walked around it to stand before us. He was an older man, a political appointee, from what Lisa had told me. He was shorter than me, his grey hair was thinning, and he walked with a limp.

"For outstanding meritorious service to the United States and to the Parahuman Response Teams, on the eleventh of August, nineteen hundred and ninety three, Lieutenant Taylor Snow is awarded the Defense Meritorious Service Medal," declared Hamilton.

I stood, stock still, as Rankine carefully pinned the medal on to my uniform, then shook my hand.

"For outstanding achievement leading to the foiling of an enemy combatant on that same day, Sergeant James McMartin Kinsey is awarded the Joint Service Achievement medal," Hamilton went on.

Kinsey stood equally still as Rankine pinned the medal to his immaculately pressed uniform jacket. Rankine shook his hand, then walked back around behind his desk.

"At ease," Hamilton went on. Kinsey and I relaxed, and went to parade rest.

"Thank you, Major Hamilton," Rankine told him. Then he turned to us. "You two will be allowed to keep your medals," he stated. "You did, after all, earn them. However, the circumstances under which you_did_ earn them must forever remain secret. The Parahuman Response Teams are a very new organisation, and if word of this leak got out, we would be in very grave danger."

He paused, and smiled, as if he could read our minds. "Not from parahuman criminals, although I suppose they would be heartened, but from Washington. We must be seen to be strong, and secure." He nodded to me. "Your Master/Stranger protocols are making the rounds even now, Lieutenant Snow. They have caused quite a bit of aggravation, and not a few complaints."

Again, he paused. "However ..."

I raised my head. He glanced my way. "Yes, Lieutenant Snow?"

"Sir, they've caught some people already, haven't they?"

The smile that split his face was wide and genuine. "Hamilton, you said she was a bright one, and by god, you were right. Yes, Lieutenant Snow, your Protocols have already proven their worth. You are to be congratulated."

"Uh, thank you, sir," I replied.

"Think nothing of it, Lieutenant. If you have any other bright ideas, and the good Major is unavailable, my door is always open."

I had my doubts about that; he had been a politician after all. But he seemed sincere.

"Lieutenant Snow! Sergeant Kinsey!" barked Hamilton. "Dismissed!"

We both came to attention, saluted with parade-ground crispness, and marched from the room.

-ooo-

**November 1993**

"_Danny!" Andrea grabbed the tall form of Danny Hebert and swung him around. "Wow, you've grown."_

_Danny shook his head. "Not that much. You're still short." He grinned down at the petite redhead; she stuck her tongue out at him._

"_Watch it," she retorted, "or I'll steal Anne-Rose back off of you."_

"_Not a chance," she heard from behind her, just before a pair of arms went around her. She squirmed around to look up into the smiling face of Danny's girlfriend._

"_You sure?" she asked with a grin._

_Anne-Rose nodded seriously, so like Taylor that it nearly broke Andrea's heart. "I've decided. Danny's the one for me."_

"_Well, good for you, girl," Andrea told her. "Make Taylor proud."_

"_What was that about Taylor?" asked Gladys, moving up to hug Danny, and give him a kiss on the cheek._

"_Oh, nothing," Danny told her. "Where's Frank?"_

"_Parking the car," Gladys told him, then looked around. "Is it just me, or do a lot of college students come here to drink?"_

_Andrea looked studiously innocent. "Maybe," she hedged. "The drinks are cheap, and the College isn't too far away."_

"_Riiight," Danny observed, very dryly. "Ah, there's Frank. Shall we get a table?"_

_The five of them managed to snag a table before the bar became too full; as if by chance, Andrea sat between Danny and Gladys. Her handbag was on her lap; under the table, she felt first Danny and then Gladys handing her a sheet of folded paper. These both went into a zippered compartment of her bag._

_The evening passed with general merriment; Andrea told them cheerfully scandalous stories about her escapades, and Danny retorted with tales of doings among the Dock Workers. He was still working on the docks on the weekend while doing his engineering course-load during the week; it was hard work, and he was filling out just that little bit more._

_Eventually, Andrea got up from the table and went to get them more drinks. On the way, she encountered a college student with whom she had been exchanging glances for the last half hour. Not entirely by chance, the student was tall and brunette._

_She took the drinks back to the table, made her excuses, and went back to talk to the college student. Half an hour and two drinks later, she left. The college student went with her._

* * *

"_Well, that's her for the evening," sighed Danny, as he watched Andrea leave._

_Anne-Rose put her arm through his. "What, are you jealous?" she teased him._

_He shook his head. "Not really. It's a little sad. Taylor's gone, so she keeps taking girls home who look a bit like her."_

_Gladys put her arm around his shoulders, and squeezed; he felt his spine creak. "Taylor won't be gone forever," she predicted. "She'll be back. She's not the type to leave someone in the lurch like that. Andrea's waiting for her."_

"_Andrea's taking girls home every __**week**__!" sputtered Franklin; his clean-cut upbringing rebelled slightly at the idea of Andrea's free-living ways._

"_Yeah," Gladys pointed out, "but she's taking a __**different**__ girl home each time. So she doesn't get attached to them."_

_Anne-Rose put her head on Danny's shoulder; he put his arm around her. "I hope Taylor does come home one day," she murmured. "I hope she doesn't die out there."_

_Danny squeezed her tightly; he agreed whole-heartedly._

_**If she does, **__he thought, __**she'll die doing what she has to do. Because that's Taylor.**_

_Of that, he had no doubt._

* * *

_Andrea lay under a roughly-pulled up sheet, holding the slender body of her bed partner for the night. She hadn't even bothered to learn the girl's name; after a few more drinks on her sofa, the girl had been entirely pliant to her wishes, and had even suggested a few variations. Now, passion was spent, and the girl was asleep, snoring slightly._

_She felt suddenly sick to her stomach; this was how she'd been before she had met Taylor. Meet and seduce, wham bam thank you ma'am. When she tired of one, move on to the next. It had been a hobby, the sex mindless and fun. Until she had met the straight girl who tried to seduce her._

_Taylor had challenged her worldview, changed how she saw things. Slowly but inevitably, Andrea had fallen in love with her. It wasn't the sex; that had happened infrequently enough to make it a delightful treat when Andrea did manage to wheedle her into it. It was the togetherness, the meaningfulness that a real relationship brought to them. The little things; breakfast in bed, foot rubs, long walks around the campus or along the Boardwalk while they discussed the events of the world._

_Taylor had known more about such things than Andrea; more than that, she had known of the deep causes, the events behind the events. Andrea had spent fascinated hours listening to her, explaining how and why the real world operated as it did._

_And then, like the last wrappings of a present being stripped away, the real revelation of Taylor had come to light. Taylor was a time traveller, sent back to save the world. It had blown Andrea's mind, had totally stunned her, that this serious-faced girl, who was so deliciously naïve about certain bedroom matters, had chosen __**her**__ to assist her in her quest._

_She had fallen in love with Taylor all over again._

_And so, Taylor had trusted her with certain secrets, certain information, that she kept even from Danny and Gladys. Together, they had built the foundations of what Taylor cheerfully called her 'financial empire'; the money from those first few investments having blown out of all proportion. There was now a company, the ownership of which led back to Andrea by devious and slippery means, which handled corporate investments. And handled them remarkably well, thanks to Lisa's information. Andrea wasn't quite sure how much she and Taylor were worth now, from day to day, but there were sure a lot of zeroes involved._

_Which reminded her; she eased her arm from under the snoring girl's body and slipped from the bed. Naked, she padded into the small room which she had set aside for the computer which Taylor had advised she get. On her first leave back from officer training, Taylor had sat up all night writing some sort of massively complex computer program, which she had stored on a floppy disk._

_Andrea sat down at the computer and pressed the power button. When the start screen came up, she opened a drawer and leafed through a series of floppies until she found the one marked 'Household Expenses 92', right between those for 1991 and 1993. Inserting the disk, she typed the command to load a program name which did not show up on the screen. Nonetheless, the program opened. A single box showed itself. __**READY.**_

_Despite the lack of a prompt, she typed in a password, which was long and quite complex. The screen flickered a few times, then went blank._

_Getting up, she went out into the living room, and retrieved her handbag. On the way, she checked on the girl in the bedroom. She was now lying on her back, snoring more loudly._

_Opening the zippered pocket, Andrea pulled out the folded sheets. Taking them back into the computer room, she set them down beside her, re-creasing the folds the other way to make them lie flat. They were photocopies of the originals, she knew._

_Carefully, she proceeded to type the text of each letter into the computer, leaving out the salutations and ignoring punctuation and spaces. Two blocks of text, separated by a single carriage return. She checked her work carefully, then pressed F1 and F2 simultaneously. Normally, this would have no effect._

_The computer seemed to think otherwise; it hummed, and the screen flickered again. The text disappeared; this was Andrea's cue to feed the letters into the shredder next to the desk. By the time the last of the sheets had become finely subdivided ribbons of trash, the computer screen was showing a result._

_First was the stock market listings for the next two weeks; or at least, those that would show appreciable climbs and dives. Secondly was a list of winning horses in various races; it was up to Andrea which ones to take. Third was a series of instructions for employing a group of men who would otherwise be engaged in acts of mayhem around the world. Without them ever seeing her, she would pay them a handsome retainer, to be employed by her in whatever means she saw fit, at some later date._

_She wrote the instructions carefully down on a piece of paper, spread flat on her desk, which she then folded and slid into the floppy envelope._

_Finally, there was the letter, encoded within the other two, meant for her and her alone._

* * *

_**Dear Andrea,**_

_**I miss you so much. It's so hard being away from you. It hasn't gotten any easier with time.**_

_Taylor went on to joke with Andrea about her habit of bringing college girls home, and to tell her how technology trends would run over the next few years. Her letter was chatty and sweet and loving, and brought a lump to Andrea's throat._

_**Lisa says I've got to end the letter soon, so I'll just say this now. I love you and miss you, and I don't care what I've got to do; we'll be together again someday. Maybe not soon, but someday.**_

_**Forever yours,**_

_**Taylor**_

* * *

_Tears stood in Andrea's eyes as she pressed two fingers to her lips, and then to Taylor's name on the softly glowing screen. "I love you too," she whispered._

_Then she pressed the space-bar; an instant later, the message was deleted, gone forever, even from the computer's memory. She took the floppy disk out and stored it back in its envelope, along with the folded paper, in the desk drawer._

_She was just shutting the computer down when the computer room door opened; the college girl stood there, looking drowsy and a little bewildered._

"_I woke up and you were gone," she murmured._

_Andrea constructed a smile. "I was just doing some work," she reassured the girl. "Come on, let's go back to bed."_

_The girl smiled back. "Okay."_

_**Someday,**__ Andrea promised Taylor as she led the girl back to the bedroom, __**it will be just you and me again.**_

-ooo-

**December 1993**

I climbed the steps to the front door and rang the bell. Moments later, the door was opened by Dorothy.

"Taylor," she exclaimed. "You're back!"

"Only for a couple of days," I told her. "We're very busy, but I managed to get weekend leave."

"Oh," she replied. "Well, come in. Come in."

I entered the house, closing the door behind me. Immediately, I felt warmer; although Brockton Bay was warmer than most places in the northeast, December could still get quite chilly.

Danny got up to greet me; I hugged him, feeling his arms around me in return.

"How have you been?" I asked him. "Have you been getting my letters?"

"Regular as clockwork," he assured me. "How do you get the time to write them?"

I chuckled. "I'll tell you a secret," I stage-whispered. "I get the lower ranks to write them out for me. It's a privilege of rank."

He snorted and ruffled my hair, which was still quite short. I slapped at his arm.

"It's good to see you," he told me. "Hey, wow, you've got medals. What are they for?"

I pointed at the ribbons. "Sharpshooting, good conduct, and … I forget what this one's for. Whistling while standing on one leg, I think."

He rolled his eyes. "Seriously, I think you've gotten worse since you went away."

"More dangerous, for sure," I agreed. "I'm taking training off a guy who could give Bigfoot the heebie-jeebies."

He blinked. "That, I believe. Why do I believe that?"

"I dunno," I informed him blithely. "Maybe because it's true?"

"Taylor," asked Dorothy, coming back into the room, "will you be staying for dinner?"

I shook my head. "Sorry, gotta bolt. But it's good to see you." I hugged her, feeling once more the fragility of her. When we separated, there were tears in her eyes.

"Taylor ..." she began. I waited. "Taylor … I'm sorry we had our differences. I'm glad you came back."

"I'm glad I came back too," I told her honestly.

-ooo-

_Andrea sat on the sofa. Christmas Eve. Spending it alone depressed her. She wished she had Taylor with her; wearing the sexy Santa outfit, teasing her, making her laugh._

_There was a bottle of bourbon in the cupboard, but she didn't want to get drunk. Nor did she want to go out to the Club; no doubt she'd pick up, but she really didn't want to do that either. To do it when she wasn't getting the coded messages from Danny and Gladys felt like she was actually cheating on Taylor, rather than just pretending to._

_There was a knock on the door. Listlessly, she climbed to her feet and wandered over. When she opened the door, her mouth dropped open and her eyes went very wide indeed._

"_Merry Christmas," Taylor told her._

* * *

_Much later, they lay in bed together._

_At first, they had sat on the sofa talking, but there were things that Taylor could not or would not talk about, and so they had just held each other. And then Taylor had started crying. Slowly, by degrees, Andrea had coaxed her into the bedroom; quite readily, Taylor had gotten undressed and into bed with her, where Andrea held her while she got it out of her system._

_The strain, Andrea gathered, was getting worse. Taylor was having to deal with things first-hand, and it was not easy on her. But she was doing it. She was getting things done. She was setting up preparations for events that were years yet in coming._

"_You know what you need?" Andrea asked her. "You need a good old-fashioned back massage."_

_Not taking no for an answer, she had fetched the coconut-scented oil, had made Taylor lie on her stomach, and had begun the massage. She had not lost any of her skill, if Taylor's contented murmurs were anything to go by. Inch by inch, bit by bit, she worked her way down Taylor's back, every well-known part of her body._

_**And then**__, she grinned to herself, __**I'll pounce.**_

_Slowly, subtly, she massaged the oil in, until her lover was relaxed, her guard lowered to its minimum. And then she started to caress her in more lewd and lascivious ways. She waited for a murmur of protest, which never came. What did come … was a faint snore._

_After all that, after all the setup leading to the moment of seduction … Taylor had gone to __**sleep.**_

_For a moment, Andrea was quite offended. But then, she saw the humour of the situation, and so she climbed out of bed, washed the oil off of her hands, and climbed back in with Taylor._

_Holding her close, comforting her even in her sleep, she drifted into dreamland herself._

-ooo-

Given my two-day leave in Brockton Bay, I had managed to avoid the base Christmas party, which had been my intent. Too much alcohol, too much general merriment. I had awoken on Christmas morning alongside Andrea, feeling more relaxed than I had in months; suspecting that we'd had sex during the night, I questioned her, only to nearly fall off the bed laughing when she told me what had actually happened.

We had spent the morning together, visiting Gladys and Frank, and finished it off with lunch on the Boardwalk. I couldn't stay, I told her. Things were going to start warming up. Events were going to start coming together, and I was going to be in the thick of it.

How right I was.

-ooo-

**January 1994**

For the first half of January, I worked on predicting parahuman trends. I didn't have to do much work, to be honest; Lisa helped me work out graphs and charts that were just far enough off to be reasonable, but close enough to be in the ballpark. More and more people started coming to me, showing me their work, asking me where they were going wrong. Some, I could help. Some, I could not. And always, with Lisa, I laid my future plans.

The eighteenth of January was an event I would not be able to dodge. The PRT was determined to celebrate the first anniversary of its inauguration in style. Every officer who was not either hip-deep in alligators or literally unable to come was told, quite firmly, to ensure that their dress uniform was up to scratch.

I tried to get out of it, and may well have even succeeded, if Lisa hadn't suggested that I go after all. I thought back to the last time that I'd ignored her recommendation, when Andrea had wanted me to come to the Club with her and meet Anne-Rose. Had I gone with her on that occasion, perhaps many embarrassing things might not have occurred. And so, I conceded, and had Kinsey lay out my dress uniform.

Sergeant Kinsey had gravitated into the role of my orderly quite readily; with my workload, I needed someone to take care of my personal affairs, and he seemed to hold a strong level of loyalty to me. We still worked out regularly on the sparring mat, and he seemed to take a fatherly pride in my progress. He still beat me on a regular occasion, but I was beginning to hold my own. He had also been rather adamant that I attend the anniversary ball.

* * *

And so, on the night of the eighteenth, he drove the hired car up around the curving driveway in front of the White House, north side. Pulling to a halt where indicated by one of the multiplicity of attendants, he got out and opened my door. I climbed out of the car, straightened my dress jacket, and gave him a slight nod. He looked me up and down – eyeing the uniform, not the body underneath – and gave me a fractional nod in return, which he backed up with a parade-ground perfect salute. I returned it; while he got back in the car and drove to the designated parking area, I strode past the colonnade and up the broad steps. Resisting the urge to rub my arms – January in DC is _cold_ at night! - I entered the main doors as they were held open by yet more attendants.

The wave of warm air washed over me as I stepped on to the wide marble floor of the Entrance Hall, decorated in a diamond pattern. Squaring my shoulders and straightening my back, I strode forward, the clicking of my heels echoing along with those of everyone else who was also entering.

The attendants directed us to the right; we passed between gorgeous columns and entered what I recognised as the Cross Hall. I made way for higher-ranking officers in the PRT, until I recognised Major Hamilton, Director Rankine, and a few of the other officers from the Chicago base. As a junior officer, I tucked in behind them, not wanting to be seen or heard. I had to be there; I didn't have to like it.

* * *

Before we ate, cocktails were served in what they called the Green Room. I could easily tell why; the wallpaper, the furnishings, all were in shades of green. It was more or less required that I accept one glass, and that glass lasted me all the way up until we were informed that dinner had been served. I put that glass, still half full, on an attendant's tray on the way out of the room.

We ate in the State Dining Room. It was the first time I'd eaten in such palatial surroundings; the very plates from which we ate had gold rims, and the silverware was more gold. The food was good, but not spectacular; I kept my elbows in, my head down, and ate. I was vaguely aware that the President and First Lady were in the room, but I didn't gawk and I didn't look around.

After the meal, we were informed that the ball would begin in approximately one-quarter of an hour, in the East Room; this was readily accessible, to be found at the far end of the Cross Hall. Attendants would show us, we were also informed, to any facilities that we wished to make use of.

I wasn't particularly interested in dancing, so I decided to look around a little; not so far that I would get lost – not that the ever-present attendants would allow that, of course – and yet not look as though I was hanging around with nothing to do. First, however, I decided to avail myself of the proffered facilities, that being one of the first unwritten rules I had learned in Basic.

There was less gilt in there than in the State Dining Room, but not by much.

Needs of biology assuaged, I wandered along the Cross Hall, taking a right into the Blue Room. In the East Room, I could hear what sounded like a live orchestra tuning up.

The Blue Room lived up to its name, just as much as its mate next door had. However, it was quite a bit larger, and was oval in shape. From my recollections of the White House in plan, it was in the semicircle that bulged out on the south side. I strolled up to the tall windows that looked out on to the South Lawn; in the glare of the floodlights, the first snowflakes were beginning to fall.

And then a voice addressed me from behind. A quite _familiar_ voice.

"Lieutenant Snow, I presume?"

I turned, slowly, to get my reactions under control. He was tall, skinny, and wore a PRT uniform, just as I did. Like me, he sported a lieutenant's bars, with an Intelligence flash.

"The name's Tom," he greeted me. "Tom Calvert."

* * *

End of Part 3-1


	17. Chapter 17

**/o\**

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 3-2: Conversations and Revelations

* * *

_[Author's Note: For those who think the first part looks a little familiar, that's because I took it off the last bit of Part 3-1 and added a little more detail. I think the story flows better this way.]_

* * *

**18 January 1994**

**Blue Room, The White House**

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Lieutenant Calvert," I lied. "What PRT base are you with?"

"I'm currently based in Washington, actually," he informed me. "And let's ditch the Lieutenant this and Lieutenant that, shall we? After all, we're both the same pay grade."

I nodded slightly. "So, Calvert," I began.

He rolled his eyes. "Seriously? Tonight's a night for _us._ We can take the sticks out of our asses and let our hair down. Unless we actually set fire to the drapes or something, we're not gonna get in trouble." He grinned at me; on any other man, I would have called it engaging. "So call me Tom."

"Okay," I allowed. "Tom. I have a question."

He bowed slightly; I was wary. He was really pushing the charm here. _What does he want from me?_

"Shoot," he invited.

I got right to the point. "How did you know me by sight, from behind?" I asked him bluntly.

He raised an eyebrow. "I asked someone who you were," he told me.

Something seemed a little off with that explanation. "Why?" I asked.

He looked slightly taken aback. "Because … you're a good looking woman, and you're a lieutenant like me, and … well, I'm interested in you."

I blinked. I'm not one to think of myself as 'good looking'. My face is too long, my expression too serious, my bosom … well, we'll leave that one well alone. Even with four years of growth since I showed up in Brockton Bay, I still hadn't graduated past an A-cup.

Which left the last reason as the most plausible. And somehow, I suspected his interest in me was something other than carnal. Although, given his utter lack of a moral centre when I had known him as Coil, that could be a factor as well.

I decided to test him. "I'm _not_ getting in trouble for having sex in the White House," I stated flatly.

That rocked him a little. "Well, not _just_ interested in you for that," he admitted. "Though seriously? Haven't you ever wanted to do it in a public place?" He raised an eyebrow in what he probably imagined was a roguish fashion. "There's all _sorts_ of quiet corners in a place like this."

I tilted my head. "Why _else_ are you interested in me?"

He sighed. "Because you're a rising star in the Intelligence community. Your name is spoken in some quite high places. To be honest … you're where _I_ want to be."

I had a flash of insight. _Lisa's not the only one who can put two and two together._ Calvert was _jealous._ He felt _challenged_. And he didn't have much in the way of moral restraint … less so after he got his powers, of course. But here and now, he wanted to prove his dominance over me, by the most primal way possible. By possessing, conquering, my body.

I wondered for a moment, if I had not been here, who else he would have been talking into a quiet corner right at this moment. Because I had no doubt that he would have been. He was that sort of guy. He would have done it because he could.

But he was still talking. "There'll be a promotion in the pipeline for you, probably sometime soon. To match the medal, I mean."

My hand began to move toward the few medals that I wore, then I stopped it. This was dress uniform, so I wore the actual medals, not just the ribbons.

"Which medal do you mean?" I asked coolly. _I_ knew which one; I was wondering how_ he_ knew.

He smiled conspiratorially. "The big one. The DMSM. I know what you got it for."

He smiled conspiratorially. "The latest one you got. The MSM. I know what you got it for."

"The circumstances around me getting that medal," I stated firmly, "are _secret."_

He shrugged. "Hey, it's the intelligence community. Secrets sometimes aren't secret. And to be honest, yours is kinda badass. How'd you do it, anyway?"

"Clean living and pure thoughts," I informed him firmly. "I'm not going to answer questions on that matter, until I'm cleared by a superior officer. End of story."

Something else was becoming clear. He had known about me, knew who I was. He hadn't had to ask someone about me; he _knew._ I had been targeted by him from the moment I walked in the door. He was willing to use whatever means it took, it seemed, to get his hooks into Lieutenant Snow, rising Intelligence star.

He rolled his eyes again. "Okay, fine. So, anyway. I make it my business to get to know people. To make contacts. I'd like you to be one of my contacts. You do me favours, I do you favours. You see how it goes?"

I eased up on him a little; not because I was beginning to warm to him, but because I needed him to think he'd won me over. He would serve a use for me, but in order to make that happen, I had to make him think that _I_ would serve _his_ uses.

"Sure," I agreed. "I know how it goes."

He smiled again. "So, here's my proposition. I know people. I know people who know people. Now, with a couple of phone calls, I can have your promotion fast-tracked. But in return, you gotta do me a favour."

"Really? And what would that be?" I asked, trying to sound interested.

"I'll be transferring soon, over to the Strike squads," he informed me. "Better chance of getting a promotion."

_Better chance of getting dead, too,_ I did not say out loud. "What's the favour?"

"A pipeline," he proposed. "You feed me your intel, I keep using my influence for you."

If Calvert had any influence, I felt certain that he'd use it for Calvert first, last and always.

But I had to at least pretend to make the bargain. "Sure," I told him. "Soon as I make Captain, you got it."

He looked a little sick, but then, he had posited the promotion. "Seal it with a kiss?" he ventured. _So we're back to that again._

Well, it was a small enough sacrifice. I steeled myself and let him kiss me, a quick lips-to-lips press. It was probably better than being kissed by a poisonous reptile, but I couldn't really tell the difference.

Before he could make it any deeper, or start getting friendly in any other way, I pulled back. "I have to go. Sorry. My boss? Absolutely hidebound. I'm too far away from his side, I get strips torn off. Good to meet you. See you around."

As I hurried from the room, I heard his voice. "Call me?"

"Absolutely," I lied.

But I didn't go to the ballroom, and I didn't go to find Major Hamilton. Instead, I went back to the bathroom that I had already been to.

I got there just in time, before I started retching.

-ooo-

_Lisa held my hair as I puked._

_Absently, I noted that strange discrepancy; in Lisa's dream world, my hair was still as long as it had been before I joined the PRT, not the efficient inch-long cut I kept it at these days._

_"I can't believe you actually let him __**kiss**__ you," Lisa exclaimed in tones of wonder._

_I heaved again, and more imaginary vomit joined that which I had already brought up. Wiping my mouth, I looked up at her. __**You said to make nice with him,**__ I croaked._

_"Yeah, but I didn't mean to __**kiss**__ him," Lisa told me. Her face and voice were solemn, but there was a light in her eyes that suggested to me that she was deriving far too much enjoyment from this. "All you had to do was smile a bit, act like you didn't utterly despise him ... but __**wow**__. That's what I call going above and beyond."_

_**Oh, shut up,**__ I mumbled. Getting up from where I'd been kneeling over the bucket, I sat down on the patio lounge next to me. Lisa handed me a water bottle and I gargled and spat into the bucket, repeated the process, then finally drank._

_**Whew,**__ I muttered. __**That's better.**_

_"You know," Lisa told me seriously, "Calvert, here and now, might not be such a bad guy. He's not Coil yet. He hasn't kidnapped Dinah, killed his captain, tried to have you killed, or committed any of the other crimes he's guilty of in our time."_

_I stared at her. __**You're saying he could be a good guy?**_

_She returned my stare for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "Oh god no," she chuckled. "He's an asshole, even now. The effort required to turn him around ... no. We let him go on his way. We let him be Calvert."_

_I leaned back on the patio lounge, watching the fountain spraying lazy arcs of water droplets into the air. __**Does this jeopardise the plan? **__I asked at length._

_She shook her head. "No. In fact, it makes him all the more likely to call on you when the time comes."_

_I grimaced. __**So, in a way, that makes kissing him actually a **_**good**_** thing.**_

_"Long term, yeah," Lisa agreed. "Short term, not so much. By the way, they're just looking for you now. Kiss before you go?"_

_I closed my eyes and touched my forehead to hers. __**I don't know what I'd do without you.**__ Then I kissed her. The taste of dust and blood wiped away, once and for all, the memory of Calvert's lips on mine._

-ooo-

My forehead rested against cool porcelain. The taste of bile was thick in my throat, but it appeared that I had not brought anything up, at least in the real world. I had merely knelt over the toilet bowl, dry-retching, before relaxing and slipping into a much-needed respite with Lisa.

There was a discreet knock on the door. "Lieutenant Snow? Are you all right, ma'am?"

I drew a deep breath. "Yes, I'm all right. Something I … ate. I think it didn't agree with me."

"Do you require medical attention, Lieutenant?"

Carefully, I climbed to my feet and checked my uniform. No marks, no blemishes. I had to hand it to the White House staff; they kept even the bathrooms so clean one could no doubt eat off the floor. Not that I was about to accept _that_ particular challenge. Gold-rimmed plates worked well enough for me.

I unlocked the toilet stall and mustered a smile for the female attendant who stood there; she peered at me anxiously. "I'm fine," I assured her. "I think I had a bad snack, earlier, before I got here."

"You're a little pale," she pointed out. I turned toward the mirror, and indeed, I was looking paler than normal.

"I'd say that's down to the sudden attack of nausea," I suggested. Going over to the washbasin, I removed my glasses and splashed water on my face, careful not to get any on my uniform. My medals clacked against the bench as I did so.

The attendant followed me, hovering. solicitously. "Would you like to lie down? I can fetch cool towels."

I turned to look at her, feeling much more myself. "No, but some sort of cold drink would be heavenly. Preferably non-alcoholic." As I spoke, I washed my hands. She proffered a towel as I finished.

"I can certainly bring you one," she assured me, and hurried out.

I finished drying my hands, and put the towel back on the rack before putting my glasses back on. Upon exiting the bathrooms, I found myself face to face with Major Hamilton.

"Ah, Lieutenant Snow," he greeted me. "Not feeling unwell, I hope?" He looked at me searchingly.

I shook my head. "No, sir. I … felt suddenly nauseous, but I think it might have been something I ate, earlier. Or the cocktails. I don't drink, you see."

He inclined his head. "And you are, if you will excuse the phrase, more of a lightweight than most of us. I can understand alcohol having an unwelcome effect on you."

I smiled gratefully. "Thank you, sir. I don't want to put you out, and I don't want to show our part of the PRT in a bad light."

He shook his head. "You're not about to do that. I've had several people trying to poach you off of me already, and we've only been here for an hour. And what's this I hear about you having a rather private conversation with young Calvert in the Blue Room, earlier? He wasn't trying to grab you for _his_ boss, was he?"

I shook my head. "No, sir. His interest in me was more … personal." I met his eyes. "Just so you know, I turned him down."

"Really?" he asked curiously. "He doesn't seem to be a bad fellow, what I hear of him. He's transferred around a bit, but he's always eager to learn new things."

_Oh, if only you knew._ I shook my head. "He came on a bit strong for me, sir. Left a bad impression. I really don't think I like him, sir."

"Hm." He grimaced. "Well, you're my best analyst by far, so I strongly suspect that your opinion is better than most. A pity; I'd heard good things."

"It _is_ possible for unpleasant people to be good at their job, sir," I offered diplomatically.

"Very true, very true. Ah, thank you." The female attendant had returned with a tray of drinks.

One was in a different glass, and she guarded it with her other hand. "This one is for the Lieutenant, sir." She handed it to me; I sipped it, and found that it was chilled milk. It went down very nicely, and washed the sour taste from my throat.

"Thank you very much," I told her, replacing the glass on the tray. "I appreciate your assistance."

"You're welcome," she replied, and bobbed in a sort of curtsey. "Major; Lieutenant."

We watched her walk away, and the Major Hamilton offered me his arm. I blinked a little in confusion. "Major?"

"It is customary for senior officers to offer a dance to junior officers at an event such as this. It breaks the ice, and allows the junior officers to feel as though they belong." His eyes twinkled. "And, Lieutenant Snow, I consider you to be a very promising young officer, and so you need to be shown off as such."

"Thank you, Major," I responded with a smile. "It would be my pleasure." I slid my arm through his, and we went to the dance.

-ooo-

I had never spent much time learning how to dance. Mom had me take a few lessons, way back when, back before all the unpleasantness began to start. Back when Emma was my best friend, and I had two parents. It was a thing we did; I learned to dance, Emma learned the piano, and neither of us ever thought we'd ever need to know how to do it anywhere that was actually _important_.

That had been a long time ago. A lot of water had passed under any bridge you cared to name. It was also, oddly enough, more than ten years in the _future._

But the memories were there, the steps, if not the name of the dances themselves. I suppose all those tours through the memory palace that Lisa had constructed for me had been worthwhile after all.

I didn't step on Major Hamilton's feet, and I didn't make an idiot of myself. We circled the room, and I remembered to breathe, and after a while it seemed to come a little easier. Which, given the sheer amount of brass gathered in the East Room of the White House, was a minor miracle.

_They aren't all staring at me,_ I told myself. _It's just what it feels like._

It was strange; back in 2011, I had cared a lot less what the average PRT officer thought of me. I'd injured a few, and killed three Directors – well, only one that was actually in uniform at the time – but their_opinions_ had rarely mattered to me. Except, of course, when I was trying to get their cooperation on something. Which rarely happened; the PRT, it had seemed to me on more than one occasion, had been hidebound, dead set against giving any supervillain what he or she wanted, even if that thing was actually _good_ for all concerned.

And now I _was_ an officer in the PRT. And I _was_ getting the cooperation I needed. By _not_ being a supervillain. By being one of them. Even if what I was doing, the seeds I was planting, would not show up for years, or even decades. But in doing so, I needed their good opinion.

It was a strange, strange world.

-ooo-

"You look serious, Lieutenant," Major Hamilton observed quietly. "You only get that look when you're working on a particularly difficult problem."

I worked at getting the serious look off my face. "Just making sure that I don't trip over my feet, sir," I assured him. "And trying to convince myself that everyone isn't staring at me, waiting for me to do something stupid."

His chuckle was warm and helped me to relax slightly. "Oh, they'll notice if you _do,_ but they aren't watching for it. You're just another junior officer in a plethora of them here, tonight. And those who know of your _real_ contributions to the PRT aren't waiting for you to trip over your feet; they're waiting to talk to you, and see if they can't persuade you to transfer to their commands."

Which didn't really help the butterflies in my stomach. "Not really wanting to do that, sir," I assured him. "Maybe once I get a few more notches on my belt, but right now, Chicago is where I want to be."

He bestowed an approving look upon me. "Well said, young Snow. Loyalty to one's commanding officer is one of my favourite qualities. I've said this before, and I'll say it again. You're my best analyst by far, and I'd hate to lose you."

Which was the perfect opening. I metaphorically held my breath and took the plunge.

"Which reminds me, sir. Something I've been working on. It's very marginal, so far, but the implications are far-reaching. I need to talk to you about it."

His gaze sharpened. "Really? What's it about?"

I tilted my head to gesture to the throng around us and shook my head slightly. "Not in here, sir."

He took my meaning immediately. "Is it about an immediate threat?"

"Not one that's going to happen this month, sir."

A firm nod. "My office, as soon as we get back, then," he agreed.

The music drew to a close, and we moved off the dance floor. "Thank you for the dance, sir," I told him politely.

He nodded to me. "Entirely my pleasure, Lieutenant Snow. You dance well."

I had to smile. "Sir, you do realise that I _am_ an analyst." _And I know when you're lying to me,_ I didn't have to add.

Chuckling at my sally, he snagged a drink off a passing tray. "Go. Mingle. Enjoy yourself, young Snow. But remember – my office, the moment we get back."

"Definitely, sir," I agreed.

At that moment, I saw the disagreeable – or too-agreeable – Lieutenant Calvert prowling around the edges of the dance floor, head raised as if searching for something, or someone. It didn't take much in the way of analytical ability to figure out who he was seeking. I didn't feel like another encounter with him, so I slipped out through the doors into the Cross Hall once more.

-ooo-

There were too many attendants wandering around for me to want to go out through the Entrance Hall, and I didn't think they'd let me go upstairs or downstairs, so I went back into the Blue Room – thankfully, without Calvert following me this time – and opened one of the doors leading out on to the South Portico.

It was still cold out – the snowflakes were falling a little more thickly, now – but the wind was coming from the north, and I was in the lee of the building. I was absolutely certain that there were men out there, on the roof and in the shrubbery, rugged to the eyeballs in winter gear, watching the grounds and the skies in all directions. More than one of them, most likely, had just put a night-sight scope on me and checked me out.

Radio messages would be passing back and forth, along these lines:

_Ah, someone's come out of the Blue Room on to the South Portico. Female PRT lieutenant. A bit on the skinny side. Not armed. Leaning on the rail._

_Roger that, keep an eye on her._

_Will do. Out._

The metal rail was freezing cold under my gloved hands, just as cold as the air that I pulled into my lungs. It stung, and I welcomed it. I needed it. I had to focus.

I was starting to slip into the military mindset, and I hadn't even noticed it. I had been honestly _worried_ back there that I might slip while dancing, and that the top PRT brass would notice it, and all form flawed judgements of me.

_What they think of me doesn't __**matter, **_I told myself fiercely. _I haven't even been __**born**__ yet, but I'm going to save the world, whether they like it or not. And it's __**me**__ that's going to do it. Taylor Hebert. Skitter. Weaver. Not their idea of who 'Lieutenant Snow' should be._

I rolled my head on my neck, watching the puffs of white vapour as I breathed in and out. _I've got a job to do, and I'm damn well going to do it._

And then, a voice cut through my reverie.

"A little chilly out here, isn't it?"

-ooo-

This was the second time tonight that someone had sneaked up on me while my attention was distracted; I really needed to up my game. I turned to face whoever it was – the voice had been vaguely familiar, but not overly so – and blinked in surprise.

The face was very familiar. The last time I'd been this close to her, I'd killed her shortly after.

Alexandria.

Or rather, Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown; instead of the dark costume with the heavy cape, she was wearing the dress uniform. Ornate as it was, she wore it well.

I'd known she was at the anniversary ball, of course. She was the _Chief Director._ Of _course_ she would be here. But I hadn't expected to come face to face with her. This represented all sorts of dangers; she had, in my time, been an accomplished cold reader.

Of course, in my time, she'd also had eighteen years' more experience, and the same amount of accumulated knowledge. Lisa had explained to me that she had gotten her powers from Cauldron in August of 'eighty-six, and had been in her teens then. Her power serum had apparently matured her body to that of a young adult, and then frozen it there. Her hair did not grow, nor did her nails. When her eye was ripped out by the Siberian, in years yet to come, it took Eidolon's powers to heal her face so that she was able to wear a prosthetic eye and appear normal to the world.

Here and now, she'd had her powers for a bit over seven years, and been a part of the Protectorate for just under six. She had faced Behemoth once in Iran, and again in Sao Paulo, while I was still in training.

I covered my consternation and confusion with a salute. "Uh, Director Costa-Brown, ma'am," I stammered.

She smiled and returned the salute. For all that she'd only been in the employ of the PRT for just a little longer than I had, the gesture was picture perfect. _Photographic memory. Right. A Thinker rating, even. Wonderful._

"Lieutenant Snow, yes?" she replied, verifying the first part of my thought. "I've heard good things about you."

"Thank you, ma'am," I replied promptly. _She's heard __**everything**__ about me. False modesty will not be my friend here. _"I've done my best, ma'am."

She nodded fractionally. "And your best, Lieutenant, is very good indeed, so I hear." She paused, inclining her head toward the tall windows behind us. "Perhaps we could speak indoors? While it is more private out here, it's not conducive to a long conversation."

This was for my benefit, not hers, I knew. For all I knew, Alexandria could sunbathe on an iceberg in a bikini and not notice the cold. Myself, I was a Brockton Bay native, born and bred, and chilly winters like this were not to my liking.

"Thank you, ma'am," I told her, and escaped to the warmth of indoors. She followed, closing the door behind us. "You wished to talk, ma'am?"

"Yes." Her nod was contemplative. "I like to know my people. I like to have an idea of the quantities with which I am dealing. Your work on the Master/Stranger protocols was very impressive; ground-breaking, even. And I understand that they stopped several security leaks in the making."

I nodded; I was beginning to feel the tips of my ears again. They ached with the returning blood circulation. "So I heard, ma'am. But I'm sure that someone else would have -"

She smiled and shook her head slightly, cutting me off firmly. "But they didn't, Lieutenant. You were the one with the training. You were the one with the foresight. You were the one, indeed, who encountered a Master-Stranger in your base, and managed to stop him. Isn't that so?"

I swallowed. "Yes, ma'am. But he did kill another soldier -"

She nodded. "Yes, I know. Wyzowski. A pity. It's just a mercy that you happened by at the right time to ensure that nothing worse happened."

She was getting at something, and I feared that I knew what it was. This was no casual encounter, not with Alexandria involved. I had been able to resist the influence of a powerful Master/Stranger, and Alexandria wanted to know how. As Chief Director Rebecca Costa-Brown, she had to accept the official verdict; but _Alexandria_ wanted to know how I had done it.

My glasses had misted over, from coming back into the warmth. I bought some time by taking them off and wiping them, then warming them with my hands. My eyes were down, and my face partially averted, when I next spoke.

"I had a hunch," I explained. "I get them. I didn't know what was wrong, not really, till I got there."

As I slid my glasses back on to my face, she frowned. I got the impression that she wasn't satisfied, not one hundred percent, but it wasn't enough to make her actually suspicious of me.

"When you were under his influence," she pressed, "were you truly controlled by him? Or were you just pretending?"

"Oh, definitely under his control," I told her truthfully. "It wasn't until I left the room and closed the door that some part of me managed to regain control enough to act."

"Whereupon you drew your service weapon, and fired three shots through the door, hitting him with all three rounds," she concluded, raising one perfect eyebrow. "That's … quite some shooting."

"I won competitions in ROTC," I explained, again quite truthfully. "I still keep it up." When I could. Sergeant Kinsey was better at hand to hand than with a pistol, but he was a top-rate coach.

She inclined her head, conceding the point. "It's good to be skilled; it's better to be lucky. It appears that you are both, Lieutenant Snow." Her voice dropped slightly, and she flicked a glance at the doors from the room; all were still closed. "Or … is there another factor involved?"

I manufactured a puzzled frown. "I … don't think I get your meaning, ma'am."

Her expression was serious. "I will make myself plain. Are you a parahuman, Lieutenant Snow? Do you possess powers?" She paused. "Understand that if you are, no penalty will befall you. In fact, quite the opposite."

I wanted to pause, to think about my answer. With Alexandria herself as my patron, as a cape working undercover for the PRT, I could make _so_ much happen.

_But my oversight would be that much more onerous._

_No. I have to follow the plan._

_Lisa knew that this would happen._

_She had to know which way I would jump._

I looked Alexandria in the eyes and stated firmly, "Ma'am, I do not have powers." Truthfully, I added, "I only wish that I did. But I do not."

She paused for a long, long moment, looking at me searchingly. I could almost feel her leafing through my random thoughts, reading my micro-expressions. It's really hard to keep expression off your face, while not appearing to do so.

Eventually, she nodded. "Very well. Carry on, Lieutenant." Her eyes bored into mine. "This conversation never occurred; you do understand this, correct?"

I raised my eyebrows in a parody of innocence. "Conversation, ma'am? We've just been talking about the weather."

Her perfect lipstick curved in a brief, ironic, smile. "Just so. Good evening, Lieutenant Snow. It has been educational, meeting you."

"Ma'am." I stiffened into a brace, and saluted her. She returned it, gave me one more enigmatic look, then left the room.

As the door clicked shut behind her, I sagged into a chair. My heart was doing a fairly good impression of a trip-hammer, and even though I had just been out in sub-zero temperatures, I felt sweat beading on my brow.

_I never want to go through that again._

When I had gotten my breathing and heartbeat under control once more, I got up from the chair. _I can't hide in here forever,_ I decided. _Might as well go back to the ball and dance with some lieutenant who's never heard of me. If I can find one._

But the moment I stepped out of the door, I saw Major Hamilton hustling along the Cross Hall. "Oh, good," he called. "I was wondering where you'd gotten to, Snow."

"What's the matter, sir?" I asked.

"We're heading back now," he told me. "I've called and sent your Sergeant Kinsey on ahead; you'll ride with me. There's been an airline hijacking; we'll teleconference on the way."

I frowned. "A hijacking? But that doesn't rate the PRT. Unless … " I didn't complete the thought.

He nodded. "Unless the perpetrators are parahumans."

I raised my eyebrows. "And are they?"

He nodded. "It appears to be the case. Come along, they're holding our plane at the air force base now."

I hurried with him. It appeared that even on this night of nights, we weren't going to be able to relax and let our hair down.

Not that I minded all that much. If I hung around this place much longer, I might run into Calvert again, and I didn't really want to have to worry about hiding a body.

-ooo-

**January 21, 1994**

"No, Frank, it was our pleasure, really it was." Major Hamilton's voice was pleased. "Thank you, you have a good day too." He put down the receiver and nodded to me. "Well, we've just gotten another pat on the back, Lieutenant. Put yourself down for a 'very well done' on the airline thing. Your insights managed to defuse the whole thing before it could get bloody."

I nodded. "Thank you, sir," I replied. "It wasn't hard, once we got the skinny on who was actually on board."

"Not hard," he snorted. "Some days, Snow, I'm convinced you have a crystal ball hidden in your desk drawer."

"No, sir," I responded, deadpan. "It's actually on the top shelf of my locker."

He barked a laugh, then picked up an envelope and held it out to me. "Here," he offered. "A letter from home. Mail call came this morning while you were working."

"Thank you, sir." I accepted the letter, and turned it over. It was addressed to me, all right, in Gladys' angular handwriting. I looked up at Hamilton.

"Go on," he urged me. "We don't have a world-ending catastrophe to deal with right at this second. Go read your letter."

"Thank you, sir," I repeated, and saluted. He returned it, and I left the office at a fast walk.

Back in my office, I settled down at the desk and carefully tore the letter open.

_Dear Taylor, _Gladys wrote, _It was good to see you over Christmas. I know Franklin was glad to see you too. I hope you can get the time off for our wedding. It will mean a lot to me._

I smiled. It would mean a lot to me, too. Gladys had been my favourite teacher, back in Brockton Bay, and on my second go-around, she had become my friend and my confidante.

_Oh, and I don't know if they've told you yet, but Danny's finally asked Anne-Rose to marry him. He did it on the Ferry, on the observation deck. She squealed so loudly that they thought someone had fallen overboard. She said yes, of course. They haven't set a date yet, but it'll be sometime later this year._

I had to stop reading, because tears had welled in my eyes. _Dad and Mom are getting married._ I hoped they would be happy. I _knew_ they would be happy.

Her parents, less so.

But that wasn't my problem.

I wiped my eyes and blew my nose, and kept reading.

_Oh, and you know your friend from Boot Camp, Emily? She had leave just after Christmas, and would you believe, she visited us in Brockton Bay? You should see her now, she looks even leaner and meaner and more dangerous than she did when she first got commissioned._

_We took her out to dinner, me and Frank and Danny and Anne-Rose, and Andrea too, of course. She told us all about what you two got up to in Boot, and we told her about how you got into JROTC for beating up Larissa and her friends, and Andrea told her about how you two met for the first time, and I don't think any of us has laughed so much in a long time._

I shook my head. _Poor Emily. She would have definitely had her eyes opened, meeting Andrea. _With a grin on my face that wouldn't go away, I read on.

_We went out and about and showed her the sights, and we all had a good time. She thought we were crazy, going down to the Boardwalk to buy ice-cream in January, but we talked her into it, and now she's a convert._

_Danny and Anne-Rose took her to meet Dorothy and George, and she definitely made an impression there. From what I hear, Dorothy wasn't quite sure what to make of her, but she rose to the occasion like a good hostess. George, on the other hand, got along quite well with her. I'm not surprised; Emily's very no-nonsense, just like he is._

I wasn't surprised either. Gladys was spot-on with her appraisal of Emily and George. They were both straight shooters.

_Oh, and get this. You know how I've been Mr Murray's assistant teacher with Computer Studies? Well, he's finally decided to step down and give me the class altogether. I think he'll be teaching PhysEd or something. But he'll still be a member of the Computer Club. They've still got a picture of you up on the wall in there, you know. You kind of left an impression._

I rolled my eyes. How could I forget? With Lisa to coach me, I had been _the_ computer go-to person for the Club. I'd had fun there, too, of course, but there had always been the knowledge that people saw me as just short of God, when it came to working with computers. It had actually bothered me slightly; I'd felt like I was somehow cheating in order to garner popularity.

Which was, I imagined, possibly why I had enjoyed the physical stuff of JROTC and ROTC so much; it was something I could do, and learn, and get right. _My_ way.

I was glad for Gladys, of course. She'd earned her place.

_Anyway, I hope you like the photo. We had the waitress in the Club take it while Emily was visiting. She got hit on by college boys, which amused her immensely._

_Photo?_ I tilted the envelope, and a glossy six-by-four slid out. I picked it up, and there they were. Danny, Anne-Rose, Gladys, Franklin, Emily … and Andrea. Who, predictably, was making a face.

In the background was the Club as I had known it; Danny and Anne-Rose looked happy, as did Gladys and Franklin. Emily looked simultaneously amused and bemused, as though not quite sure whether to burst into laughter or hide under the table. Andrea looked like … Andrea. There were no words to describe her; or rather, there were many. Too many to use all at once.

Tears filled my eyes again, and the photograph wavered in my vision. I missed them all terribly; I had not realised how much until just now. I'd thought that visiting them over Christmas had helped me out there, but now it was back at full strength.

I wiped my eyes on a fresh tissue, blew my nose, and finished the letter.

_We all love you and miss you, and I'll see you next time you're in town. Take care, and give the bad guys an extra kick in the ribs for me._

_Cheers,_

_Gladys_

I smiled at that. _I sure will._

Looking one more time at the photo, I slid it back into the envelope, along with the letter. This was something I would keep, and cherish, over the long hard days to come.

It had also reminded me of something. Dropping the envelope into my desk drawer, I went back to Major Hamilton's office.

"Major?" I asked, knocking on the door frame. "A word?"

He looked up from the paperwork he was dealing with. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

I drew a deep breath. "The, uh, matter I wanted to talk to you about at the ball? When would be a good time for that?"

It took him a few moments to recall what I meant, them I saw his eyes click into focus. "Give me half an hour," he told me decisively, "and then we'll go for a walk."

I nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Saluting, I left his office.

-ooo-

Several soldiers were doing PT on the school's running track as we strolled around its perimeter, heavy jackets and scarves warding off the winter chill. I'd thought August was cool in Chicago; it had nothing on January.

"So talk to me, Lieutenant," he invited me. "What's the problem?"

"This is really big," I began. "I'm gonna have to feed it to you in bite-sized chunks, if that's okay?"

He nodded. "Probably best," he agreed.

I paused, marshalling my thoughts. Lisa and I had agreed that this was _probably_ the best way to put this across to him. Without real-time access to my every word and action, without the ability to predict exactly how people would react to what I did, Lisa could only advise me on things like this. It was up to me to make it work.

"Are you aware of the mechanism of trigger events?" I began. "The way parahumans get their powers?"

"I'm aware that they happen," he replied. "Not exactly sure of the whys and wherefores. One day someone doesn't have powers, next day they're juggling semi-trailers."

I nodded. "Well, in between, there's a situation of conflict. Something happens to the person to put them under strain, or there's a conflict within themselves." I drew a deep breath of winter air. "I've heard it described as 'the worst day of your life'. That's what gives people powers. The very worst thing that ever happens to them."

He was silent for a moment. "So … it's when they're attacked, or feel threatened … "

"... or feel abandoned, or all alone, or they're so caught up in a conflict that they don't feel anything at all," I finished. "There are many causes in the literature; so many that trying to replicate it is worse than useless. I personally believe that each trigger event is personally tailored to each parahuman. You can't inflict the same trauma on John Doe that you did on Mary Smith, and expect him to manifest any powers at all, much less the same powers that she got."

"So you're not talking about being able to trigger powers at need in people," he concluded.

I shook my head. "No, sir. I don't think we'll ever be able to do that. But you follow my point about how conflict and powers are closely linked?"

"Yes, I do," he agreed. "So where do we go from there?"

"Well the next point," I went on, "is that all powers are capable of _causing_ conflict of some sort. Some might be physical, others might be mental, others might be emotional. Every power allows its user to lash out at other people. At the world around them."

For another long moment, he didn't speak. "You realise, Lieutenant, you're not making me any more sanguine about whatever your eventual point may be. But yes, I understand where you're going with this. All powers can be used to hurt others, in some way. To cause conflict. Another link between powers and conflict. Go on."

"Third point," I noted. "It's early days yet, and we haven't got nearly enough data to be certain about this, but it appears that those parahumans who use their powers for conflict, regularly and repeatedly, seem to get _better_ with their powers than those who use them for non-conflict means."

He frowned. "By 'better' do you mean more skilled? Because any skill will improve with use."

I shook my head. "Not exactly, sir. I mean that their power and range increases – fractionally, but the increase is measurable. Their control over the effects is improved. They learn more tricks." I took my hands out of my pockets and spread them. "They get better at using them, better than the ones who are using them for normal, everyday pursuits."

He absorbed my words. "Conflict," he stated at last.

"Conflict," I agreed. "Now, the next couple of points are hypothetical. Extremely hypothetical. I have no proof, no data to back me up on them. They're just … hunches."

He turned his head to look at me. "Lieutenant, I would back your hunches over a dozen informed intellectuals from any college you would care to name. Be assured that I will give you a fair hearing on this. Fire away."

I nodded. "Thank you, sir. Hypothetically speaking, what if there was an … intelligence? A thing, out there somewhere, that was bestowing powers on humanity? Because powers aren't coming out of nowhere. They're coming from _somewhere._ Something's giving them to us. Something is reaching out its finger, and tapping people on the head, and saying, 'when you have the very worst day of your life –_you_ will get super-powers'." I paused. "What if that something's doing it _deliberately? _What do you think its motives might be?"

Major Hamilton shivered, and I didn't think it was from the cold. "Christ, Snow, you have a way of asking very big, very scary questions."

"I'm sorry, sir."

He shook his head. "Don't be. It's very pertinent question. And the answer's simple. To foment conflict within the human race." He stared at me. "Do you think that's even _possible?"_

I drew a deep breath, welcomed the sting of chilled air in my lungs. "I don't know, sir. I have no data. But I have another hypothetical to run past you."

"And the hits just keep on coming. Shoot."

"This creature that came up out of the ground in Iran, and attacked Sao Paulo last year … "

"Sierra Mike Alpha, yes," he replied. "I believe the press are calling it the 'Behemoth'." He paused. "Do you think _that_ might be your instigator … ?"

I paused, then shook my head. "No, I don't think so. But what if it's _guided_ by conflict? What if it's drawn to it? Either moving toward an area that has ongoing conflict – such as the Middle East – or toward a place that will be most thoroughly destabilised by it attacking?"

He stopped talking, and stared at me. "Snow … are you saying you know _why_ it attacked those places?"

I shrugged lightly. "I've been doing a lot of research, sir. Correlating a huge number of factors. Then squinting sideways at the data to see if I can make a pattern emerge." I made my tone light. "Everything short of nailing a map to the wall and throwing darts."

He didn't react to my levity. "And what did you come up with?"

"A lot of very loose numbers, sir. Numbers that need to be crunched before I can reach a solid data point, something that I can hold up and say, I know this for certain." I drew a deep breath. "But I suspect that there'll be another attack within the next three months. And my gut tells me that it will be within the continental United States."

I stopped. His stare had, if anything, intensified. I waited.

Eventually, he spoke. "Lieutenant Snow." His voice was almost harsh.

I stiffened into a brace. "Yes, sir?"

"I am ordering you to not speak on that matter to anyone other than me, until further notice."

"Sir, yes sir."

"Furthermore, you are to only pursue that matter in absolute secrecy. No-one but you and I must know about it, until you can actually produce verifiable results."

"Yes, sir. I understand, sir."

"Tell me what resources you need."

I drew a deep breath of the winter air. "A computer, sir. Top of the line. I can crunch the data much faster with it than without."

He nodded, sharply. "You'll get it. Now remember, you report to me, and only me, on this matter. If word got out, there would be a panic. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir. I understand perfectly, sir. This is why I came to you with it, sir."

He bent a faint smile on me. "Carry on, Lieutenant Snow."

"Yes, sir."

We strolled back to the offices, and we did not speak any more of conflict.

* * *

End of Part 3-2


	18. Chapter 18

**\o/**

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 3-3: Interpersonal Relationships

* * *

**Saturday, March 5, 1994**

**Brockton Bay**

* * *

Sergeant Kinsey swung the hire car expertly into the parking spot; I nodded to him, fitted my beret on to my head, and climbed out of the vehicle. "You can find your way back to the motel?" I asked him. The question was unnecessary; I knew damn well that even if he couldn't, there was a map in the glove compartment. But we both knew that verification avoided problems later on.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied crisply.

"Good. I'll call you when I need pickup. I'll probably be a couple of hours. You're off the clock until then."

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied. He didn't salute, which was appropriate, given that he was in current control of a vehicle with a running motor. I nodded to him, closed the door, and strode toward the church. Behind me, I heard the sedan shift into reverse, as he prepared to pull out of the parking space.

I knew that, once back at the motel, he would probably change into civvies, and go and have a few drinks. Not so many that he couldn't drive, but enough to relax and unwind. That was fine with me; he was a good soldier, and a good subordinate. He wouldn't get into trouble.

-ooo-

* * *

**Monday, February 28, 1994**

**Chicago PRT Base**

* * *

Major Hamilton grimaced as he read over my leave application. "You do know that this is not the best time, Snow," he protested.

I nodded. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. But my best friend _is_ getting married, and … "

"And you want to be there for her," he finished. "Well, I can't fault your loyalty, Snow. But we're getting toward that deadline … " He didn't say it out loud, but I knew what he was thinking. I had been 'working' on the problem of where and when the Behemoth would strike next, but I had not yet been able to give him a definitive answer. And nor, although he did not know it, would I, not until it was almost too late.

"Yes, sir," I agreed. "It's not yet, but it's soon. I need to gather more data."

His brow creased. "Snow, you've already been burning up the phone lines between here and every police station that I've ever heard of. As well as spending all hours of night and day tapping away on that computer that you requested."

"It's a big problem, sir," I reminded him. "It's not hard to find out where violence is building, but it's a more subtle problem to work out where an attack would be more likely to destabilise the area."

He tilted his head. "How do you figure that one out? Your crystal ball again?" By which he meant my occasional 'hunches'.

"In a way, sir," I agreed. "I'm asking for statistics on minor assaults, crimes committed on the spur of the moment. Online, I'm chatting to people across the country, in chatrooms and the like, and throwing out subtle provocations to see if they're more likely to react disproportionately. Cross-referencing that on the map gives me a feel for where people are starting to feel the strain, where civilisation is wearing thin."

"Hm." He frowned. "Seems very up in the air to me, Snow. But _are_ you getting results?"

"I'm getting closer to getting _a_ result, sir," I temporised. "But this leave will help me get more data. By talking to people."

"Which reminds me." He tapped the leave form with a thumbnail. "Driving from Chicago to New York, then up to Brockton Bay? Couldn't you simply fly to New York, then drive up, or even fly direct?"

I shook my head. "No, sir. I need to be out in the world. I want to spend time on the ground, taking the temperature, as it were. We'll be stopping in every community, getting more of a feel for things. Seeing if I'm getting warmer or cooler."

A shake of the head. "More crystal-ball mumbo-jumbo." But he accompanied the comment with a smile. "So it's not just a vacation, Snow."

"No, sir, it's not just a vacation."

Thus reassured, he picked up his pen and signed the application. "Enjoy yourself, Snow. Come back with something I can use."

I saluted; he returned it. "I'll do my best, sir."

-ooo-

* * *

**Saturday, March 5, 1994**

**Brockton Bay**

* * *

I marched up to the church steps, and climbed them. Pushing open the doors, I slipped inside, pausing to let my eyes adjust to the brightness while I took my beret off again. PRT undress uniform had a steel-blue tunic with ultramarine trousers or skirt; by preference, I wore the former. The beret matched the tunic in colour; I rolled it up and tucked it under the shoulder strap of my epaulette.

I moved down the aisle carefully, noting Franklin at the altar, talking quietly to a few of his friends. I didn't recognise them. Nor, it appeared, did he recognise me. But then, it wasn't me that he was looking for.

I saw a hand raised, and then I spotted Danny's familiar profile; murmuring excuses, I slipped into the pew. Not much to my surprise, Andrea was sitting alongside Danny, with Anne-Rose on his other side. Danny looked moderately uncomfortable in a suit and tie, while Andrea had on a bright red dress that set off her hair, and Anne-Rose wore a deep blue gown which rather suited her. With a mild sense of shock, I thought I actually recognised it; I'd seen it, or one very like it, in Mom's closet, once upon a time.

George and Dorothy were seated on the far side of Anne-Rose; I nodded to them, and Dorothy smiled back.

Danny and Andrea wedged aside to make room for me, and I sat between them. Andrea immediately captured my hand and held it tightly; I squeezed back, enjoying the feeling of her hand in mine.

"You made it," Danny murmured. "I was wondering if you'd be able to get away."

"You think I'd miss _this?" _I grinned at him. "Gladys and I have been through too much together." I paused. "Which reminds me. She told me that you two have finally gotten engaged."

On his other side, Anne-Rose smiled at me, then showed me her hand, with the engagement ring on the appropriate finger. The stone was of a modest cut, but I took her hand in mine, and examined the ring with feigned astonishment. "Wow, Danny, what jewellery store did you knock over to get _this_ rock?"

She giggled and flushed, pleased at my joke. Danny snorted; he knew all about my sense of humour. "It's not all _that _big ... "

"The heck it's not," I retorted. "You don't want to go swimming with this on, Anne-Rose."

"Why not?" she asked, concerned. "Do you think I'll lose it?"

"Nah," I told her, releasing her hand. "It'll drag you straight to the bottom." Anne-Rose giggled again, and Danny just shook his head, even as he tried to hide a grin. I kissed him on the cheek. "Congratulations, both of you. I know you'll be very happy."

There was a momentary silence, and I wondered if I'd overstepped the mark, telling them anything at all about their future lives. Then Danny cleared his throat.

"Thank you, Taylor," he replied soberly. "I appreciate that."

"Not a problem." I grinned at him. "So. You thought about when you're actually gonna tie the knot?"

He nodded. "We're looking at mid to late August, before the end of summer break."

I calculated rapidly in my head. Given my mid-June birthdate, I would've been conceived in mid-September, just after college let in again. Which, in hindsight, made my parents' late September wedding date look just a little suspicious. It looked like this time around, they weren't going to be caught off guard.

It kind of made sense, in a weird way; having a time traveller assure you that you would have a happy marriage would probably go a long way toward assuaging doubts.

"That sounds just fine to me," I agreed.

"And I've decided to take your advice," Anne-Rose put in. "When we go back, I'm changing my major." She went to say something else, but just about then, the music started up. We faced front; Franklin, at the altar, stood up straight and looked down the aisle.

"Whoops," muttered Danny. "That's my cue." He scrambled to his feet and made his way out to where Franklin was standing. Reaching into his pocket, he produced a ring-box, which he surreptitiously checked to make sure of the contents. Thus satisfied, he patted Franklin on the shoulder, apparently in reassurance.

We all craned our necks; the church doors opened once more, and Gladys entered, on her father's arm. I had only met Mr Harvey a few times, but we had gotten along. He looked proud; she looked utterly radiant. Behind her trooped the bridesmaids, holding her train.

We watched as she proceeded down the aisle. Down toward the front, I spotted her mother, already dabbing tears from her eyes. When Gladys reached the altar, she took Franklin's hands, looking into his eyes, while her father retired to a seat beside her mother.

The priest cleared his throat. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today ..."

-ooo-

After the ceremony, the wedding party posed at the top of the church steps while photos were taken, and then the bride threw the bouquet. It went high and wide; Gladys had always had a good arm. Anne-Rose reached up and snagged it out of the air, then looked smugly at Danny.

People were surrounding them, offering congratulations and slapping Franklin on the back; I joined the crowd, trying to get close to the newlyweds. I was taller than most of them there, even some of the men, and Gladys spotted us almost immediately. "Taylor! Anne-Rose!" she called, and forged her way between her well-wishers to reach us. When she got to me, she flung her arms around me, and I immediately got the impression that she had not slacked off on her exercises. I was no weakling myself, especially not since joining the PRT, but her hug drove all the air from my lungs.

"You made it, you made it!" she exclaimed, bestowing a jasmine-smelling kiss on my cheek. I returned the hug and the kiss, though less exuberantly, then looked into her smiling face.

"You look good," I told her, and it was true. She looked ... 'radiant' is a much overused word, especially when used in conjunction with brides, but she did look all of that. "I think married life agrees with you."

"Oh, _you," _she chuckled. "Look, Franklin, Taylor made it! I knew she would!"

Franklin, looking somewhat stunned, caught up with her. "Oh wow, hi, Taylor," he greeted me. "That beret looks really cool."

I chuckled, and touched the aforementioned beret, which I had of course replaced once we exited the church. "It's convenient, I'll give it that. It's good to see you. How have you been?"

He spread his hands. "Oh, you know, same ol', same ol'. Woke up this morning, said, hey, I think I might get married today, and hey! Here we are."

Gladys nudged him in the ribs. "What, asking me didn't come into it at all?"

By way of answer, he took her into his arms and gave her a kiss; she returned it with a certain amount of enthusiasm. I grinned and glanced at Anne-Rose, who was hugging her bouquet. "You realise, that's kind of a given," I pointed out. "Maybe you should give some other poor girl a chance."

"Oh, really?" she retorted. "Would _you_ like it?" She made as if to hand it to me; I raised one hand defensively, as the other had been recaptured by Andrea.

"No, no, I'm good," I told her. "No plans to get married any time soon."

"That's what I thought," she sniffed, and wrapped her arms around it again. "This is _my_ bouquet, and I won it fair and square."

"Hey, Taylor," Danny spoke up from beside me, "do you have a lift to the reception?"

"Uh, no," I confessed. "I told my driver to wait for my call. And I don't even know where it is."

"Oh, that's fine," he told me. "We came in my car. I can give you a lift."

"You have a car?" I asked. "Wow, this I have to see."

-ooo-

The car didn't look too bad, to be honest; it was second-hand, to be sure, but it was well-kept, and ran smoothly. Anne-Rose got in the front seat, while Andrea and I shared the back, a situation that pleased both of us. I put my arm around her; she snuggled up to me.

"So tell us what you've been doing," she demanded. "Your letters don't say much of _anything."_

"That's called 'operational security'," I explained. "I'm not allowed to talk about much of what I do. But I _did_ go to a party at the White House in January."

She listened, wide-eyed, while I gave her a carefully edited version of what had happened at the ball. Not at all deterred by any concept of operational security, she bombarded me with further questions, until Danny laughingly interrupted. "Hey, Andrea, can one of us ask her a question?"

She sighed and pouted. "I _suppose." _I grinned, and gave her an extra squeeze. "Go ahead," she added, the answering grin on her face belying her still-sulky tone. "Ask your stupid question."

"Taylor, you drove all the way here from Chicago, via New York, right?" Danny asked.

"Sure," I agreed. "Two days from Chicago to the Big Apple. Another six hours from there to here. Why?"

"Well, that's what I was going to ask _you_," he responded. "Why? Why drive all that way, by that roundabout route, when you could have flown from Chicago to here in less than an hour?"

I considered the question. "I suppose," I answered carefully, "you could say that I was on a fact-finding mission." I had to be careful; while all three were aware of my true origins, only Danny and Andrea knew even peripherally of my behind-the-scenes activities, and just Andrea knew about Lisa.

"And I suppose the nature of the facts that you were finding is not a topic for discussion," Danny commented dryly, when I did not go on.

I nodded. "Sorry, but that's the way it is."

"Did you at least get the information you were after?" asked Andrea.

I nodded. "Yes, I believe I did."

-ooo-

* * *

**Friday, March 4, 1994**

**Interstate 76**

* * *

We were an hour out of Pittsburgh when I raised the topic. We'd driven from Chicago to Pittsburgh the previous day, an eight-hour drive that had done neither of us any favours. I'd offered to take my turn at driving, but Kinsey was adamant; he was the NCO, so he would drive.

At each town, I had gotten out to stretch my legs, gone into the shops, bought small items, and chatted to the shopkeepers. Kinsey and I were both in plain clothes, but I had him stay in the car; whether he was wearing the uniform or not, he was a sergeant through and through.

By halfway through the drive on Thursday, he had unbent enough to chat on neutral topics, to carefully express his views on some matters, and in general to act like someone chatting to an equal, not a sergeant talking to a lieutenant.

And so, on Friday, the asphalt of I-76 was humming under our tyres when I turned to him. "James," I inquired politely, "can I ask a question of you?"

His eyes flicked sideways to me. "The Lieutenant is entitled to ask any question she feels necessary," he replied.

I raised an eyebrow. "I thought we'd gotten past that, yesterday," I commented. "Yes, I'm an officer. Yes, you're an NCO. But right here, right now, we're two people in a car, and if we can't talk freely, it's going to get very old, very fast."

Again, the eye-flick. "Was that a question, ma'am?" he asked after a moment.

"No, James, it wasn't," I responded. "The question is, do you trust me?"

There was a long silence. I waited. After a time, he replied carefully. "I'm not sure what you mean by that, ma'am."

"I mean," I told him, "do you believe that I would betray you, personally, in order to get some sort of profit or benefit?"

He shook his head immediately. "I don't believe that, ma'am."

I raised my head slightly. "Why not?"

This time, he turned to look at me, a direct eye-to-eye contact, before putting his attention back on the road. "Because you saved my career. After that Master-Stranger did his whammy on me, I was on the bench. No-one would have trusted me with anything important. It wouldn't have been long before I was offered an honourable discharge, for the good of the service. But _you_ trusted _me._ And that means something to me. That means a hell of a lot, excuse me for swearing, ma'am."

I smiled slightly. "That's fine, James. I've heard much worse. I've _used_ much worse. But I'm glad you feel that way. Because it means I can ask you another question. And this is a much harder one."

"Ask away, ma'am."

Mentally, I sighed. _I'm never going to get him to lose the honorific. Oh well. _"Before I ask it, I want you to understand that no matter what you say, no matter how you answer it, I want you to be totally honest. Is that understood? No matter what you tell me as an answer, I want to hear your real opinion. There will be no repercussions. None. You're safe, no matter what you say."

One eyebrow raised. "Sounds like a doozy of a question, ma'am."

I nodded. "The question is this. What's your personal opinion of me, as a person and as an officer?"

I saw his knuckles tighten on the wheel. When he spoke, his voice was carefully casual. "Christ, ma'am, you've got a talent for hitting a man with the big ones."

I kept my tone light. "Is that your opinion?"

Half a smile cracked that craggy face. "No, ma'am. That was just an observation. And before I answer, you're one of very few that I'd be honest about answering with. Some officers, who I will not name, would hold a grudge for honest answers, even if they demanded them in the first place."

I nodded. "Understood, Kinsey. Feel free to answer in your own time."

He breathed deeply; neither of us spoke for a good half mile or more. Then he spoke.

"Ma'am, as a person, you're more than a little on the driven side. From what I know, you're loyal to your friends, and probably pure hell to your enemies. You know a lot more than you should in some ways, and less than I'd expect in others. If you were my daughter, I'd be proud as hell of you. Mind you, you also confuse the hell out of me sometimes, but if we were in civvy street, we could be friends."

"And if I was a sergeant, like you?" I asked quietly.

He grinned slightly. "Then I'd be asking why the hell you hadn't gone in for officer training already."

I nodded. "Interesting. And as an officer?"

He took a deep breath. "You're a cowboy, a maverick. You pretend to keep your head down, but you come up with the most wild-ass stuff, and it's all pure gold." He frowned. "You don't play politics and you don't kiss ass. You're doing your job, doing it right, getting your ducks in a row, but you've got a longer term goal in mind than career PRT officer."

I shivered. "Christ, Kinsey. That was some analysis. Why aren't _you_ an officer?"

He chuckled slightly. "That would require me wanting to be one, first," he replied. "Now, I'm getting the impression that you're wanting to ask a third question, to do with the other two."

"You are correct," I acknowledged. "And this is the big one. If I chose, at some future time, to leave the PRT, would you come along too? If I asked you?"

He froze, just for a moment. "Are you planning to leave the PRT soon, ma'am?" he asked quietly.

By _soon_, I suspected, he meant _during this trip._ In short, he was asking me if I was intending to go AWOL.

I shook my head. "No, Kinsey. Not that soon. It's more of a hypothetical. As you have so succinctly pointed out, I'm not planning to make the PRT my career. If and when I do leave, I could do with a loyal, well-trained … "

"Helper?" he suggested. "Bodyguard? Assistant?"

I tilted my head slightly. "I was thinking 'partner'."

"Partner," he repeated. "Hm. I'd have to think about that one."

"Take your time," I told him lightly. "I've still got a lot of work to do before I hand my resignation in."

He nodded, acknowledging that. "I'll definitely think about it, ma'am," he agreed. "I like being in the PRT, but these days, I'm not so sure whether it's the PRT that I like, or being your orderly. You keep life interesting."

"I can only try, Kinsey," I replied. "I can only try."

He was silent for a few moments, then changed the subject. We didn't talk about the topic of trust, or about leaving the PRT, for the rest of the trip.

-ooo-

We got motel rooms in New York; again, I went for a walk and spoke to people before turning in.

In the morning, we were on the road early, heading toward Brockton Bay.

-ooo-

* * *

**Saturday, March 5, 1994**

**Brockton Bay**

* * *

"Oh no, you didn't!" I exclaimed, as I realised where we were going.

Danny grinned. "Oh, yeah. We did."

"You realise that I don't have the very best memories of that place," I reminded him.

"Oh, I dunno," Andrea told me as Danny pulled the car into a parking space. "I seem to remember that's where I ended up with a girlfriend."

I gave her a very dry look before climbing out of the car. "And you'll never, ever get tired of telling people about that, will you?"

"Nope," she confirmed cheerfully. "Except that one tall skinny drink of water who kept coming around for a bit, asking around about you. When he got to me, I told him exactly where he could fuck off to, and how he could do it."

"Tall, skinny guy, huh?" I asked, not entirely surprised. "Did he try to put the moves on you?"

"Not me, but I heard he tried it on with a couple of the other girls," Andrea told me. "When it came to me, he was just hot for information."

_Tall skinny drink of water … sounds like Calvert, all right. So he __**was**__ in on the investigation._

I leaned down and kissed her; she blinked, but did not protest. In fact, she kissed me right back.

"Not that I'm complaining," she observed when we broke for air, "but what did I do to deserve that, and can I do it again?"

I smiled down at her. "Probably helped keep my career from crashing and burning," I told her fondly. "I think they were looking around for proof that I was gay."

She blinked. "Oh, is that all? He was asking more questions than that. Had you ever exhibited signs of parahuman powers, and all that."

"Huh," I murmured, a little jolted. "Well, given that I'm not a cape - "

"A what?" she asked.

"A cape," I explained. "It's what some people are calling costumed parahumans. Seeing as I'm not one, that's a given."

That comment was for the benefit of Danny and Anne-Rose, who were tactfully keeping out of the conversation for the moment. Andrea knew exactly what _was_ going on with me, or at least as much as I knew about it, and so she didn't argue.

"Yup," she agreed. "Now let's go join the reception."

"Let's do that," I agreed, and led the way into the Brockton Bay College Recreational Club.

-ooo-

" - so Emily goes, 'Okay, I hear you're good on the rifle range,'" Andrea told the table. Danny was grinning broadly, and Anne-Rose was giggling over her drink. I had a bottle of some sort of alcoholic cider; I'd had the bartender hand it over unopened. There was no way I was going to risk another drink spiking, even at an event like this. In any case, it wasn't too strong, so I figured I was okay.

Gladys had her hand over her eyes, slowly shaking her head. I was intrigued. "So what happened then?" I asked.

Andrea took a drink, and grinned at me. "They went on to the rifle range, and Emily slaps down ten bucks and points Gladys at the hundred-yard target. So Gladys pops it. Emily takes her shot, and pops it too. So Emily goes to the one-fifty yard target, and slaps down another ten."

I could see where this story was going. "So, at what point did Emily give up?"

Andrea cackled out loud. "Five hundred yards. She only hit the bullseye with one shot out of three, and missed with one shot altogether. Gladys put them all through the same damn hole, near enough. Right smack bang in the middle."

Gladys shook her head again. "I felt so bad, taking her money," she explained.

"So we took her out for drinks, after," Franklin took up the story. "Got her drunk on her own money. By the time we poured her on to the train, she was _plastered."_

I grinned. "Gladys, you target-shooting shark, you."

"I still go out once a week and put a few rounds through a few targets," she confessed. "It's fun."

"Wait till you see the wedding present Dad got you," Franklin told her.

Her eyes opened wide. "Ooh, what?"

Grinning, he shook his head. "Gonna have to wait and see."

Andrea leaned up to my ear and whispered, "A new rifle."

I looked at her and raised my eyebrows in a question. _Are you serious?_

She nodded, grinning.

_Well,_ I thought. _Gladys is gonna love __**that.**_

-ooo-

The reception went longer than I thought. The drinks were free, and the alcoholic cider seemed to really agree with me. Not that I had _that _many, or so I thought; it was just that we were toasting the bride and groom a lot, and the bottles didn't have all that much in them, and it was sometimes easier to finish one and open another.

I went to stand up, swayed, and steadied myself on the table. "Woo."

Danny blinked owlishly at me. "Taylor, you're drunk."

"Am not." I went to take a couple of steps, and swayed again. "Woo. Maybe I am."

Andrea picked up one of my bottles – _how did that many cider bottles get in front of me? Was someone else drinking them and leaving them in front of me? That's untidy._

She looked at it, and laughed.

"Wow, Taylor, you've really been putting these away, haven't you?"

_She_ didn't sound drunk. That wasn't fair at all. She was smaller than me.

"They're not that bad," I told her, trying for a positive tone.

She chuckled. "They're _smooth,_ I'll give them that. They don't have as much alcohol as a full-strength beer, but you've been putting away a _lot_ of them."

I blinked at the number of tables on the bottle – I mean, bottles on the table. They seemed to move around. Tricky little things. When I counted them, I couldn't focus. After I counted the same one four times, I gave up.

"Have I drunk that many?" I asked plaintively.

She nodded, then grinned. "But it's okay. I can give you a lift back to my place."

That sounded good. I had spent many nights at her place. Sometimes when it was my place. But then something intruded. "I … no. Can't."

She frowned. "Can't?"

I held her by the shoulders, steadying myself, and tried to explain. "I got driver. He'll pick me up. Sergeant. Big man. Kinsey. Regul-regulashuns. Need to call him."

She frowned. "You're serious."

"'M offisher. Got rules 'n' regulash'ns t'follow. Major tol' me, tol' me, not go far from Kinsey. He's driver. Protects me. Big man. Good man."

She nodded. "Okay, we'll call Kinsey. Sergeant Kinsey?"

I nodded, then regretted it as the world spun. "Woo."

"Where's he staying?"

"Motel," I mumbled. "Big sign. Thingy." I rummaged in my pocket, found my wallet, then promptly dropped it. Andrea picked it up, and looked through it.

"What am I looking for?"

"Paid. Piece of paper. Thingy."

"A receipt?"

I raised a finger, because I didn't want my head to fall off. "That. Yeah."

She pulled something out of my wallet, unfolded it, and read it. "Found it. Traveller's Rest. Rooms fifteen and sixteen."

"Yup yup," I agreed. "Thass th' one. He's in sis'teen." I forgot not to nod, and the world spun again. "Woo."

"Why don't you sit down here," she told me gently, and helped me to a seated position. "I'll go make that phone call."

"Okay, Andrea," I told her. I watched her walk away. _She's so nice to me. Why did I leave her?_ For the life of me, I couldn't remember.

-ooo-

_The phone on the nightstand rang. Kinsey sat up and muted the TV so that he'd be able to hear the person on the other end, before picking up the phone. "Kinsey."_

"_**Ah, yes, sir, we have a young lady calling you. She says it's about your friend?"**_

_He frowned. "Put her through."_

_A moment later, after a few clicks, a feminine voice burst on to his eardrum. Not Lieutenant Snow. Someone else._

"_**Am I talking to Sergeant Kinsey?"**_

_He sat up straight. "Yes. Where's Lieutenant Snow?"_

"_**She's kind of drunk. You might want to come pick her up."**_

_He stood up. "Where is she?"_

"_**Do you know where the Brockton Bay College Recreational Club is?"**_

"_I have a map. I'll be there shortly."_

_He put the phone down, then went to the closet, where he'd hung his uniform after changing into civvies. __**I've never known her to get drunk before. They say she threw up after one cocktail at the White House ball.**_

_He wasn't quite sure what was going on, but he knew that he needed to go and get her._

_**If anything happens to her – anything at all – Major Hamilton will have my guts for fucking **_**bungee cords**_**.**_

-ooo-

_Ten harrowing minutes later, he was pulling into the parking lot of the Brockton Bay College. Leaping from the car, he double-timed it toward where the Club was spilling music, laughter and revellers into the cool night air._

_One girl was steadying another as she threw up into a garden bed; he nearly went straight past them, before he realised that the tall one with the blue outfit was indeed Snow. The redhead who was assisting her looked around and saw him, and waved him over._

_As he got there, Lieutenant Snow finished throwing up, and groggily straightened up. The redhead gave her a tissue, and she wiped her mouth. Her glasses were askew, and she carefully straightened them before focusing on Kinsey._

"_Sergeant Kinsey," she enunciated carefully, "I think I would like to go back to the motel now."_

"_Yes, ma'am," he replied, saluting._

_She returned the salute, nearly putting her own eye out, then staggered a little; the redhead steadied her again. "Do you need a hand, Sergeant?" she asked._

_He shook his head. "I've got it from here, miss," he replied. "Thank you for calling me."_

_She smiled sadly. "You're welcome. She means a lot to me." She held out her hand. "Andrea Campbell."_

_He shook it. "James Kinsey."_

_Tucking his shoulder under Snow's – she was just tall enough for this to work – he helped her back to the car, and got her into the passenger seat. By the time he was done getting her seatbelt on, she was snoring softly._

_The drive back to the motel was a lot less hair-raising than the outward trip; Lieutenant Snow was safe now, in his care. Several times on the drive, he looked across at her as she slept. She looked almost innocent, unspoiled. Quite the contrast from when she was on duty; the snap in her voice, the glint in her eye, told anyone who doubted her that here was someone that you didn't cross._

_And now, she was drunk in the passenger seat of the car, as he drove her back to the motel._

_**I thought I'd seen all sides of her. It's a strange, strange world.**_

-ooo-

_Getting her into her motel room proved relatively easy. They had adjoining rooms, and she was limp as a rag doll. There was no-one else around; he picked her up in his arms and carried her into his room, through the connecting door, into hers. Laying her down on her bed, he untied her shoes and eased them off, placing them neatly on the floor beside her bed._

_The uniform tunic concerned him; there were a few spots on it, either from food, drink, vomit or alcohol, and if she left that till morning, the stains would set._

"_Ma'am," he stated firmly. "Lieutenant Snow."_

_She stirred a little._

_He repeated her name, shaking her slightly. Her eyes fluttered open. "Huh?"_

"_Lieutenant," he repeated. "You have to get your tunic off. I need to soak it. Do you understand?"_

_**Christ,**__ he thought, __**Hamilton really should have sent a female driver with her. I do not need this situation.**_

_She nodded woozily. "'kay." With fumbling fingers, she began to unbutton her tunic; he helped her out of it, then unpinned the medal ribbons and laid them on her nightstand._

"_I'll just set this to soaking," he assured her, averting his eyes from her lacy bra._

_Ducking into the bathroom, he filled the basin with cold water, rubbed soap on the stained areas, and left the tunic to soak._

_When he exited the bathroom, he saw that she was wriggling out of her uniform pants, but seemed to be stuck._

_**I do not need this.**_

_Striding over to the bed, he took hold of the bottom ends of the trouser legs and gently tugged them off of her, doing his best to ignore her long, slender limbs and body, the pale skin contrasting against her dark underwear._

_**I can handle this. We're both adults.**_

_Folding the trousers, he hung them over the chair beside the bed, then turned to go._

"_Serg'nt."_

_The word was not much more than a mumble, but he heard it, and turned. She was up on one elbow, looking at him._

"_Lieutenant?"_

"_C'm'ere, Serg'nt," she ordered. She was still slurring her words, but they were recognisable._

_He went to the side of the bed._

"_What do you need, Lieutenant?" he asked, quietly._

_She gave a choking noise, and for a moment he thought she was about to throw up again, but with a shock, he realised she was crying. "'m all 'lone. M' friends 'r' dead, long ago 'n' far 'way. Need someone t' help me not be all 'lone. C'n you help me, Serg'nt?"_

_He was very aware of her as a woman._

_**Oh god, let me do the right thing.**_

_He sat on the edge of her bed. She tried to kiss him; he turned his face away, gathered her in his arms. Softly, gently, he held her in his strong embrace, rubbing her back as he sang to her. The tune was that of a nursery rhyme; the words, quite obscene, those of a US Marines marching song. But it was the tone, the rhythm, that mattered. Slowly she relaxed, her eyes closed. The tears stopped flowing._

_He laid her down on the sheets, pulled the covers over her. Turned off her bedside light._

_Then he went back through the connecting door, and locked it on his side. Carefully, he took off his uniform and hung it up, piece by piece. And then he went and had a very long, very cold shower, before he went to bed._

-ooo-

* * *

**Sunday, March 6, 1994**

**Traveler's Rest Motel**

**Room Fifteen**

* * *

When I finally managed to open my eyes without lightning-bolts of pain slashing through my retinas, I looked up to see Sergeant Kinsey standing by my bed with a tray of food.

"Good morning, Lieutenant," he greeted me formally. "How are we feeling this morning?"

I weakly reached out and grasped a glass of fruit juice. Slowly, carefully, I drank some of it. My stomach did not rebel, so I drank some more.

"Like the inside of someone's sock after a twenty-mile pack march," I groaned. "Ow. My _hair_ hurts. How does my _hair_ hurt?"

"The Lieutenant apparently drank a little too much last night," he observed. "I would suggest that she rehydrates, then has a long hot shower, then eats as much of this as she can. Then, perhaps, she might feel a little more human."

I eyed him suspiciously. "You seem to be deriving far too much enjoyment out of this," I growled.

He returned my gaze innocently. "Far be it from a sergeant to derive enjoyment from a lieutenant's misfortune, ma'am. I would never do such a thing."

I drank more of the fruit juice. It seemed to be spreading throughout my system, waking me up as it went. It tasted vile, and it _still_ tasted better than what had apparently died in my mouth overnight.

Something occurred to me, and I checked under the covers to make sure of it. "Sergeant, I appear to be not wearing my tunic or trousers."

"That is correct, ma'am," he replied, still holding the tray. "Your tunic was spotted with something, so I had you remove it then hand it to me; I put it on to soak. You removed your trousers and hung them up yourself."

"From my memory of last night," I ventured, "I would have been hard put to walk across the room without falling over."

"That, ma'am, is what Basic is for," he reminded me. "So you can still do things like that, even when in the extremity of injury or drink."

"Hm." I finished the juice. "Leave the tray. I need to have a shower."

"Ma'am." He set down the tray, about-faced, and then left the room at quick march, while I was still figuring out how to untangle myself from the sheets.

Slowly, creakily, I climbed out of bed. It took some effort to reach the bathroom, and more to prepare for the shower. There were certain biological processes to go through first, which left me much relieved.

Slowly, however, the hot spray woke me up, and unknotted my muscles. I still didn't remember much past seeing Kinsey and telling him that I needed to go back to the motel.

My tunic was in the basin, where he had put it. I pulled it out and rinsed it under the hot water; with some scrubbing, the stains came out. Wringing it out, I hung it up next to the shower cubicle, then got under the spray again. Leaning back against the wall of the cubicle with the water running over my body, I closed my eyes and let my mind drift …

-ooo-

"_Wow, you certainly tied one on there."_

_I looked across at Lisa as she finished strapping the saddle on to the hadrosaur. She was wearing knee-high boots of an odd pebbled leather that never came off of a cow, along with tough, hard-wearing clothes, and a broad-brimmed hat. __**What do you mean?**_

_She grinned mischievously. I groaned; I knew exactly what that grin meant. I'd put my foot in it, in a most embarrassing fashion. Lisa wasn't going to let me hear the end of this for __**ages.**_

"_I mean," she told me, "you almost literally drank yourself under the table on alcoholic cider. One more bottle, and you would have happily gone home with Andrea. And slept with her."_

_**Oh god.**_

"_And then," she went on relentlessly, "after the good Sergeant Kinsey got you home, and into bed – your bed, not his – he had to get your tunic off, because it was spotted -"_

_**Yeah, I know,**__ I told her irritably._

"_Did you know he helped get your trousers off, and hung them up for you?" she asked sweetly, climbing into the saddle. Extending a hand down, she helped me up behind her._

_**I suspected, **__I growled._

"_And then you made a move on him."_

_I froze. __**I **_**what?**

_She shrugged and grinned, and started the hadro off at a fast, if bumpy, trot._

"_You tried," she called over her shoulder, as the large dino negotiated a stony slope down into a narrow draw, "to get him into bed with you. While drunk, and only wearing your underwear."_

_**Oh god almighty.**_

_The hadrosaur loped along the floor of the narrow canyon, ducking around large flowering bushes. I began to hear a dull rumble, although there wasn't a cloud in the sky._

"_Fortunately, your Sergeant Kinsey, although he was mightily tempted at that moment in time, held to his duty. He sang you a lullaby, and basically rocked you to sleep. Then he went and had a really cold shower."_

_**Holy shit, **__I marvelled. __**The man must be a saint.**_

_The hadrosaur exited the draw, into a wider canyon. There were no bushes here, no trees of any kind. This was because all plant life had been stamped flat by the mass of ceratopsians that were occupying the canyon from side to side. Stolidly, they trundled forward, each footfall raising dust to obscure the ones behind._

"_Nope," Lisa corrected me. "Just a really good sergeant. Who's just a little bit in love with you, although he'll never, ever admit it."_

_My brain locked up. __**Kinsey's in love with me?**_

"_Just a little bit. Prod's down by your left boot."_

_I reached down and pulled the long metal prod out of the leather scabbard. There were two contacts on the end. __**A cattle prod?**_

"_Prod, yes. Cattle, no." To illustrate, she leaned over in the saddle and touched the contacts to the shoulder of a ceratopsian that was attempting to nudge the hadrosaur aside. There was a __**pop**__ and a smell of ozone, and the ceratopsian bawled in protest, moving away from us._

**_Ah,_**_ I noted. _**_Gotcha._**_ I frowned. _**_How can he be in love with me?_**

_She glanced back at me. "You're a bit slow today. He's already told you as much. You could have ended his career with a word, but you helped him instead. You're a straight shooter, you don't play politics, and you treat your subordinates well. And you get the job done. Also, it doesn't hurt that you've started to develop a little, over the last couple of years. If you were sergeants together, he would already have asked you out."_

_The hadrosaur loped forward along the periphery of the herd of ceratopsians. Occasionally, Lisa leaned forward and prodded a slow or stubborn one out of our way._

**_I never realised,_**_ I told her in tones of wonder. _**_I thought he was just loyal._**

_She shrugged. "There's loyalty and there's loyalty. Many shades of grey. When I was alive, I loved you in my own way. Just not, you know, in __**that**__ way."_

_The canyon began to widen, the herd to spread out. "We've got to get up ahead of them," she told me, shaking out the reins so that the hadrosaur quickened its pace. "Turn them so they go down a side canyon. Also, watch out for the raptors."_

**_Raptors? _**_I asked._

_It was then that I saw one, cutting through the herd like a shark through a school of particularly stupid fish. It went to leap on to the back of the hadro -_

_Instinctively, I brought up the prod. The raptor ran full into it. A jolt of electricity designed to get a three-ton ceratopsian's attention coursed through its body. It fell, and lay twitching. The ceratopsians behind walked stolidly over it. I didn't see it again._

"_Yeah," she grinned. "Raptors."_

_We pounded down the canyon, prodding the ceratopsians into turning, dealing with the occasional raptor that wanted to either lunch on us, or take down a ceratopsian calf. Once, a raptor tried to hit us from the other side; Lisa drew a pistol that looked more like a blunderbuss, and blew a large hole through it._

_Finally, we had the herd moving smoothly; the raptors were either dead or had decided to seek greener pastures. We stopped for a breath, watching them trundle past, their massed footfalls shaking the earth. It was only then that I noted the small brand that each bore on its flank; TT._

**_Wow, you're really into this herding dinosaurs thing, aren't you?_**_ I asked._

_She grinned at me. "Hey, it's a hobby."_

_I inclined my head. _**_Not criticising. I enjoy whatever we do together._**

"_Me too. By the way, you might want to get out of the shower soon. Thought about what you're going to say to Kinsey?"_

_I nodded. __**Yeah. Thanks, by the way. I needed time to think.**_

_She smiled. "Any time. Kiss before you go?"_

_I kissed her readily enough; her lips tasted of dust and blood. A fly buzzed at my eye, and I blinked -_

-ooo-

\- and I opened my eyes in the shower.

I sighed, reaching to turn the water off. The time with Lisa had served to answer some questions, but had raised one or two more. There were now issues that I had to deal with, or not, and I had no idea how to deal with them. It had been bad enough when _Brian_ had felt that way about me, and I'd been his _girlfriend_.

Kinsey and I, on the other hand … we were in a fixed hierarchy. There were _rules_. Sergeants did not sleep with lieutenants in their chain of command. That was even if I was attracted to him.

_**Am**__ I attracted to Kinsey?_

It was a fair question. He was tall, muscular, not bad looking, but years and years older than me. Consciously, I had never actually thought of him in that way before. Subconsciously, apparently, I had been checking him out.

But now, drunkenly, I had made the offer, and he had turned me down. How would this affect our working relationship? How was I going to deal with this?

Kinsey, apparently, was dealing with it by not dealing with it. As far as he was concerned, it had never happened.

I thought some more about this, while I dried and dressed. I put the still-damp tunic on a hanger under the ceiling fan while I ate the remainder of my breakfast, then I tapped on the connecting door; he opened it almost immediately.

"Ma'am," he acknowledged me. He didn't salute, given that we were both in civvies.

"Sergeant," I replied. "Thank you for the breakfast. You were right; I do feel more human."

The slightest smile cracked his imperturbable expression. "You're welcome, ma'am. What are your plans for the day?"

I rubbed my chin. "I believe that I will go and say my goodbyes to my friends. And then we'll make a start back to Chicago."

He nodded. "Very good, ma'am." Turning away, he started toward the door out of his room.

I raised my voice slightly. "Oh, and one more thing, sergeant?"

He stopped and glanced back at me. "Ma'am?"

"About last night. After we got back."

For a long moment, he looked at me. "You remember, ma'am?"

"It came back to me in the shower." It wasn't even a lie. "Thank you, sergeant."

Slowly, he nodded. "You're very welcome, ma'am."

I closed the connecting door, and went to get my bag. The issue with Kinsey wasn't over, but we could both deal with it.

And for the time being, I'd have to be satisfied with that.

* * *

End of Part 3-3


	19. Chapter 19

/o\

**Recoil**

Part 3-4: Acceptable Losses

* * *

**Wednesday, March 16, 1994**

**Chicago PRT Offices**

* * *

I stood to attention and saluted smartly. "Major Hamilton, sir."

He returned it. "At ease, Lieutenant Snow." A faint line creased his brow as he observed me. "You have something for me?"

Relaxing a little, I clasped my hands behind my back. "Nothing I can put on paper, sir. It's about that matter we discussed on the playing field."

His head came up. "Shut the door, Snow."

I did as I was told, then returned to my position in front of his desk, at parade rest.

Major Hamilton was old-school military. He had been facing mandatory retirement from the regular army when the opportunity came to transfer across to the brand-new PRT and he had jumped at the chance. His balding head, half-moon glasses and neatly-trimmed white moustache might have given him the air of a kindly uncle, but the brain behind those shaggy eyebrows was still as sharp as a tack.

I sincerely liked the man, and I regretted the deceptions that I had played upon him, that I would yet play upon him, but these were things that had to happen.

Reaching into his desk, Hamilton retrieved a hand-held radio. He tuned it to a popular music station and turned the volume up a little; we would be able to hear one another, but no-one outside the room would be able to distinguish our voices over the background music.

Placing the radio on the desk between us, he leaned forward slightly, picking up a pencil with which to take notes. "Report."

I took a deep breath. "It's either New York or Los Angeles, sir. Not less than one week, not more than two."

His face did not change in expression, but his knuckles whitened. The pencil jammed into the pad so deeply that the tip of the lead snapped off. "You're certain about this, Snow?"

"As sure as I can be, sir. New York will cause disruption; LA already has conflict ongoing with the racial unrest. By my data, either one is a prime target. All the other indicators point to one or the other."

"But it can't be both."

I shook my head. "No, sir. I'm getting real-time data from each one. I'll keep working on it."

His faded blue eyes glinted at me from behind the spectacles. "When do you think you'll have a definite answer?"

"Not sure, sir. The numbers keep changing. But I'll try to get you as long a lead time as possible."

Abruptly, he nodded. "Good work, Snow. Keep me apprised. Was that all?"

Almost, I lost my nerve. Almost, I said no. But I had to lay the groundwork.

My nod was almost tentative. "Sir, there's something else. Something I've been getting a whiff of, while doing my other research." I paused, as if reluctant to go on.

His tone was sharp. "Spit it out, Snow."

I took a deep breath. "The instigator. I might be able to find the instigator."

Major Hamilton stood up so quickly that his chair rolled backward on its castors. There was a soft thump as it hit a filing cabinet; we both ignored it. "The instigator? You're sure of this?"

I shook my head quickly. "Not at all sure, sir. Just a hunch. And I won't be able to confirm anything until after this attack." I looked him in the eye. "And if _that_ doesn't happen when and where I end up predicting it does, I'll have to start fresh. I won't be able to depend on any of my conclusions."

Slowly, reluctantly, he nodded. "Understood, Snow. Keep me posted, on both accounts. Dismissed."

"Sir, yes, sir!" I saluted; he returned it. Turning, I opened the door and left his office; as I did so, I heard the music die away.

I headed for my quarters; I had two letters to write.

* * *

**Saturday, March 19, 1994**

**Brockton Bay**

* * *

_Andrea's latest conquest was a black college girl, who couldn't have been a day over nineteen. She had been sweet and submissive, with long black curly hair, and had reminded Andrea altogether too much of Taylor. Despite the girl's willingness to stay over, Andrea had called her a cab and sent her on her way before midnight._

_The temptation to let her stay had been strong. Too strong. Andrea had sent her away before she could convince herself that letting the girl sleep over a night or three wouldn't do any harm._

_Now, she sat at her computer, decrypting the latest pair of letters from Gladys and Danny. The financial information scrolled down the screen, and she carefully copied it down. Then the letter from Taylor to her; sweet and loving, with an aching loneliness that whispered to her from every line. Her lingering inclination to get back in touch with the black college girl grew weaker and weaker, as she read Taylor's words through, carefully and lovingly._

_And then came the postscript._

_Instructions, on how to get in touch with a certain person. A person who could make things; a Tinker, in fact. A particular item, with very specific properties, that needed to be acquired from that person. Her eyes widened as she took in exactly what the item was supposed to do. Awareness crept into her mind, awareness of exactly how serious Taylor had been, when she had told Andrea what she was willing to do, in order to carry out her goal._

_There was one other thing that she had to get, but that was much easier._

_Carefully, she noted down those instructions as well. Then she read through the letter again, letting the words fill her soul, warming her from the inside out. Pressing her fingers to her lips, she gently touched the screen, where the phosphor letters spelled out Taylor's name. Gone now was even the slightest temptation to get back in touch with the college girl._

_**It's time to help save the world.**_

_She wasn't quite sure __**how**__ what she was getting would help save the world, but she had faith that Taylor knew what she was doing._

* * *

**Wednesday, March 23, 1994**

**Chicago PRT Offices**

* * *

_Lisa strapped on the helmet, covered as it was with green metallic scales, and turned toward me, swirling the iridescent green cape around her. "How do I look?" she asked cheerfully._

_**Well, damn, **__I commented. __**I am seriously impressed. I thought nothing could beat your velociraptor wrangling antics.**_

_The backdrop to the latest adventure was … stunning. We were situated in an immense valley, with jagged peaks reaching for the sky far to the left and right. Snow-clad mountaintops reflected the brilliant sunlight; overhead, twin moons showed identical daytime crescents. In the distance, a city apparently composed of various shades of crystal bid fair to emulate the mountain peaks, sending back rainbow scintillations from towers and spires, impossibly tall and slender. Closer to us, a tremendous grandstand was filled with people dressed in multicoloured finery; they waved banners of various colours._

_Lisa chuckled. "Sometimes you've got to change things up a little." She clicked her tongue; the enormous creature lying alongside us, clad in the same iridescent green scales as her cape, leaned its huge head down to sniff at her hand; each snuffle sent puffs of warm, spicy air over the both of us._

_She stepped forward, reached up, and scratched the dragon behind one spiky 'ear'; it stretched its long neck slightly, and crooned, soft and low._

_And then it yawned, six-foot-long jaws opening to reveal fangs as long as my forearm but needle-sharp, and a startlingly pink tongue that curled up at the tip like a cat's. Another gust of warm, spicy breath washed over us._

_**Wow,**__ I muttered. __**I think Peter Jackson wants your special effects budget.**_

_She snorted laughter; the immense creature closed its mouth, and one large reptilian eye turned to observe me with interest._

_**You realise,**__ I went on, __**that even though this is a dream, there is nothing you can say or do that will make me get on one of those things alone.**_

"_Oh, I knew __**that**__," she assured me. "That saddle up there's a double."_

_**Great,**__ I muttered. __**So instead of getting on a dragon by myself like a certified lunatic, I get to **_**share**_** one with a certified lunatic.**_

"_They're perfectly safe," she insisted, with an almost straight face. "They hardly ever try to eat their riders."_

_**Forget I asked,**__ I replied, rolling my eyes. __**Oh, and one other thing.**_

"_Yes?" she asked innocently._

_I indicated the ground crew, moving around, tending to the dragons. One and all, they were male. Tall, muscular. And not a one of them was wearing a shirt. And when they weren't doing anything, they seemed to just stand there, flexing._

_**Is that eye candy there for you or for me?**__ I asked bluntly._

_She grinned. "Yes."_

_I raised an eyebrow. __**Really? You're gonna play it that way?**_

_She sighed. "You have no problem with spacecraft, dinosaurs or dragons, but you have issues with me having good-looking guys in my little fantasy world?"_

_**I -**__ I stopped. There was no way that sentence was going to end well. __**Point taken. Enjoy your little beefcake show.**_

"_Thank you," she grinned. "I most certainly will."_

_With entirely unnecessary help from a tall, brawny young man, she ascended to the dragon's saddle. I declined similar assistance, and climbed up there myself. Settling into the saddle, I made sure that the straps over my thighs were buckled down correctly, as was the strap around my waist._

_Lisa looked over her shoulder at me. "Ready?"_

_**Ready.**__ I put my arms around her waist, braced myself._

_She whistled shrilly. On either side of us, huge iridescent green wings unfurled, spread, lifted … and then beat downward, once._

_Twice._

_Three times._

_We were airborne._

_I whooped as we gained altitude, the ground falling away beneath us at a prodigious rate. Lisa was yelling too. From her exultant tone, she was enjoying herself immensely, glorying in the rush of flight. But no more than I was._

_It was __**awesome.**_

_**So what's my job?**__ I yelled in her ear, once the dragon's flight steadied out._

"_Gunner!" she yelled back. "Down by your right knee!"_

_**Oh, right,**__ I replied. Reaching down, I slid my hand into the grip; it folded around my hand, almost feeling alive as it did so. When I pulled it out, the barrel was a good four feet long, looking like a cross between a short medieval lance and a long-barrelled rifle._

_**Who am I shooting at?**__ I asked next._

_At that moment, she made some sort of signal to the dragon; it flipped a wing and rolled. As it did so, a streak of bright red light, with an actinic violet core, blasted past us, missing by a matter of yards. My head whipped around; not fifty feet behind us, a second behemoth of the skies banked around for another shot, this one covered in red scales. Its rider was grinning beneath his similarly-coloured helmet._

_"Them," Lisa explained succinctly._

_I extended my arm straight back and snapped off a shot; the gun-lance jolted my arm, but not significantly. My beam was bright green, with a sun-bright yellow centre. The dragon behind us evaded, but that lost him his position on our tail. Our dragon, apparently noting this, pulled up and around in a turn that compressed my spine in ways it probably wasn't intended to go. I tried to keep aim on the other team's dragon, but the g-forces dragged my arm down and off target._

"_Good shooting," Lisa praised me._

_**I missed,**__ I called back._

"_Gave 'em a fright," she retorted, turning so that I could see her grin. "They won't be so careless, the next time."_

_The 'next time' came about half a second later; again, our dragon evaded in a manoeuvre that left both Lisa and me hanging head down, and me, specifically, acutely grateful for the safety straps. I fired three shots during that pass; the opposing crew fired four. I was fairly certain I'd grazed the rider – his left arm was hanging limp – but one shot from the opposition struck our dragon's wing. The great beast began to labour._

_But I was learning how this worked, and I tapped Lisa's shoulder with my left hand. __**Down and around, **__I instructed her._

"_You sure?" she responded. "That'll - "_

_**I know what it will do. Down and around.**_

"_I hope you know what you're doing." She gave the signals to the dragon, which half-turned its head to look quizzically at her. She gave the signals again, more emphatically. It obeyed; I got the impression that it was as dubious as its mistress._

_We tilted up on one wing, and dived, then turned at the bottom of the dive. This put us almost directly alongside the other team … but with my left side to their right side. The enemy gunner grinned, taking his time as he brought his gun-lance around to bear on us._

_But I was already acting. In the dive, I'd undone my safety straps, hanging on with my left hand to Lisa's waist belt. So even as we came level, I flung myself out of the saddle, swinging around with all my weight on my left arm. And I brought my right arm – and the gun-lance – into alignment, and fired._

_Three shots went into the dragon, then one into the gunner, and one into the pilot. Stunned, they slumped in the saddle; the dragon, ancient instincts taking over, began to glide back down toward the ground, far below._

_Lisa grinned as she helped me back into the saddle; the dragon assisted by diving, to reduce my effective weight. "That was damn ballsy," she praised me._

_I grinned, doing up my safety straps one-handed. __**Well, you know me. If I'm doing a Hail Mary pass, it's probably Tuesday.**_

_She nodded. "Can't argue with that."_

_We glided back down toward the ground, taking a victory roll past the stadium. The spectators waved bright green banners, cheering our victory. As the dragon backwinged and touched down to the ground, Lisa pulled her helmet off and shook her hair out. A new cheer greeted her, as we climbed down to the ground._

"_Looks like it's about time for you to wake up," she told me. "Kiss before you go?"_

_I nodded, and leaned down to her. She kissed me; her lips tasted of dust and blood. One of the ground crew grabbed my shoulder and shook me hard._

-ooo-

I came out of the trance; a hand was shaking my shoulder. Gradually, I responded, lifting my head from my desk. A sheet of paper came with it, glued to my cheek with drool. I peeled it off, glanced at it, dropped it on the desk.

"Lieutenant Snow, how much sleep have you had in the last ninety-six hours?"

Turning toward the speaker, I made a vague attempt at saluting. My glasses were askew; I straightened them.

"Major Hamilton, sir," I mumbled.

Hamilton returned the salute and frowned; my uniform was rumpled, with a coffee-stain on my right sleeve cuff. I knew it was there; I had carefully applied it, some hours previously.

He looked around my office; normally neat and tidy, right now it was anything but. Stacks of paper covered in arcane graphs and charts lay across my usually pristine desk; several had slipped, and quite a few sheets lay on the floor underfoot. On one corner of the desk, a coffee-cup lay on its side, the spilled dregs staining several unfortunate sheets into illegibility. My computer was on, running a repeating image of graphical representations of racial tension in Los Angeles. Post-it notes were stuck to every available surface, bearing cryptic notations, some of which actually meant something.

I was quite proud of the mess; I had spent some time getting it just right.

"Answer the question, Lieutenant," he snapped.

I took a deep breath, pretended to try to focus. "Sleep, sir? Couple of hours 'round midnight, night before last, I think." I got up off the stool, stood to attention, swayed artistically. "I'll be fine, sir, with some coffee in me."

He shook his head. "No, Lieutenant. Your Sergeant Kinsey is going to put you to bed, now. And he's not going to let you up for at least twelve hours." He shot an irritated glance at Kinsey, who was at that moment attempting very hard to blend into the wallpaper. "As he should have done days ago."

"Don't blame him, sir," I protested. "Ordered him to leave me alone so I could work. Coffee. Need coffee."

"Sergeant Kinsey," he snapped. "Escort Lieutenant Snow to her quarters. She is not to leave them for the next twelve hours. Do you understand?"

Kinsey nodded. "Sir, yes, sir!" he barked.

"Sir," I protested weakly. "My work. So close."

His eyes wavered, just for a moment. But then he firmed his jaw. "I can't let you kill yourself doing it, Snow," he told me. "You're my best analyst. You have your orders. Go."

I allowed myself to be guided away from my office. Even if Hamilton brought the other analysts in on this while I was asleep, they would get exactly nowhere. The graphs and charts were mostly meaningless to anyone but me. They were just for show. As was this little act; but I needed Hamilton to believe that I was burning the candle at both ends, to get this data to him in time. I couldn't make it look easy.

Of course, all of this was window-dressing; I already knew exactly when Behemoth was due to attack. But I had to make it look good. And so I allowed Kinsey to escort me to my quarters.

Besides, I _was_ feeling rather tired.

* * *

**Saturday, March 26, 1994**

**Chicago PRT Offices**

**0149 hours, CTZ**

* * *

_The phone beside the bed rang in Hamilton's ear. He came slowly and grudgingly out of a deep slumber, clutching at the shreds of his dream. At his side, Junie rolled over and mumbled something in her sleep._

_It took three tries to snag the handset. Only his ingrained sense of duty prevented him from slamming it down again, so that he could go back to sleep. With his other hand, he felt for his glasses on the side table._

"_This is Major Hamilton. Make it good." His voice was a sleepy growl. Whoever was on the other end was going to be one very sorry sonovabitch._

"_**Sir, it's Lieutenant Snow." **__That got his attention, just a little. Snow was a good girl. She didn't make frivolous calls. But what she said next didn't make any sense at all to his sleep-befuddled mind.__** "I've – the numbers have matched up. I know where it's going to be, sir."**_

_He barely refrained from blasting her with an onslaught of profanity. "Where what's going to be, Snow? Make sense."_

"_**Behemoth, sir,"**__ she blurted. __**"It's going to attack New York."**_

_Abruptly, he recalled what she was talking about. Some of the sleepiness went away, as did much of the anger, but some still remained. "And you couldn't have waited a few hours to tell me this?" Fumbling his glasses on, he peered at the bedside clock. "It's two in the goddamn morning, Snow."_

"_**Sir, no, I couldn't,"**__ she hurried on. __**"Sir, it's happening **_**today**_**."**_

_He froze. Adrenaline surged through his bloodstream, chasing down any remnants of sleep and beating hell out of them. He strove to calm his racing thoughts, to put them in some sort of order._

"_**Sir?" **__asked Snow in his ear. __**"Are you still there?"**_

_He took a deep breath. "Say that again," he ordered._

"_**Sir,"**__ she reported crisply. __**"My best analysis is that Behemoth is going to strike New York City sometime in the next twelve to twenty-four hours."**_

_Her words, unexpectedly, calmed him. He hadn't heard wrongly. There were protocols to be followed. He felt centred, certain of himself. His thoughts began to fall into order. He knew what to do._

"_How sure are you of this, Snow?" He had to ask the question, no matter how insulting it sounded._

_He heard an indrawn breath, a deep one. __**"I'd stake my reputation on it, sir,"**__ she told him quietly._

"_You may just be doing that right now," he told her grimly. Now that he was thinking more clearly, he had time to wonder about something. "Why are you awake at this misbegotten hour, anyway?"_

"_**I – I've been up for a while, sir," **__she confessed. __**"Working on this."**_

_Which meant that she hadn't slept that night. Which meant that she'd probably gone back to working straight through, once Kinsey had let her leave her quarters._

_If she hadn't … she might just have missed the deadline. He might have woken up to find the attack under way._

_**I'll let it go, this time.**_

"_You go to bed now, Snow," he told her gruffly. "You've done enough. I'll take it from here."_

"_**Thank you, sir," **__she replied; he thought he heard a yawn after the end of the last word. __**"Good night, sir."**_

"_Good night, Snow," he replied, and hung up._

_Then he sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and switched on the bedside lamp. At his back, Junie mumbled a protest and pulled the covers over her head. He ignored her; taking a deep breath, he dialled a number from memory._

_**It's not only Lieutenant Snow's reputation that's at stake, here.**_

_It was a credit to his faith in her that he did not pause in dialling the number, all the way to the last digit._

_Two rings later, the phone was picked up._

"_**Chief Director Costa-Brown speaking."**_

"_Ma'am, this is Major Brian Hamilton, PRT Intelligence Division, Chicago offices," he reported._

"_**I know of you, Major,"**__ she replied coldly. __**"Why are you ringing me at this ungodly hour?"**_

"_Ma'am, my best analyst, Lieutenant Snow -"_

"_**Snow?" **__she interrupted. __**"Lieutenant **_**Taylor**_** Snow?"**_

"_Uh, yes, ma'am," he agreed. "She, uh, just woke me with a piece of very frightening information." There was no further interruption, so he carried on. "She tells me that Sierra Mike Alpha is going to be attacking New York City in the next twelve to twenty-four hours."_

_She didn't hesitate for a moment. __**"And you believe her?"**_

"_Ma'am, she's brilliant and eccentric and makes intuitive leaps like no-one I've seen before. And she's right far more often than not. Plus, she just about killed herself over the last week, trying to work this out for me. So yes, I'm strongly inclined to believe her."_

"_**One more question, Major. Why am I speaking to you, rather than Rankine?"**_

_He decided to go for broke, and spoke as frankly as he dared. "Because I didn't want to have to spend time convincing him, then giving him enough information to convince you, ma'am. I believe Snow is correct. We do not have a moment to waste."_

_Some of the frost had left her voice when she replied. __**"Well done, Major. We'll speak again."**__ She hung up._

_Shakily, he lowered the handset to the cradle, the switched off the light. He lowered himself to the mattress once more, then Junie rolled over._

"_What was that all about?" she mumbled._

_He sighed. There was no sense in worrying her. "I'll tell you in the morning. Go back to sleep."_

_He climbed out of bed and went to his study. Picking up the phone there, he dialled a number._

"_Director Rankine? Hamilton. Yes, sir, I know how early it is. There's something you need to know … "_

* * *

**Saturday, March 26, 1994**

**New York City**

* * *

When the Behemoth – tagged by the PRT as Sierra Mike Alpha, for 'Subterranean Menace A' – first emerged from the Marun Field in Iran, there had been no thought that it would ever return. After all, it had faced the massed power of all the parahumans that had been able to arrive in time. Casualties had been taken, but it had been driven away.

And then, it had dug itself out of the earth once more, in Sao Paolo. The destruction had been even more devastating, the casualties more horrifying. More parahumans had faced it; more had died. It had been driven away once more, but at a terrible cost. No more was it thought to be just a Middle Eastern problem, or even an Asian problem. It had emerged on the other side of an ocean, on a whole different continent.

After the second emergence, hasty think-tanks were convened, not to find ways to kill it – that was left up to the parahumans – but to minimise the death and destruction that it left in its wake. Shelters were posited, in which cities could hide their populations; not unlike the bunkers left under many cities in the aftermath of the nuclear-war scare of the sixties. But these would take time to design, to install, even with parahuman – especially Tinker – assistance.

In the meantime, the other wartime staple, the air-raid siren, had been revived. Emplacements around every city, broadcasting on every radio and TV channel, would warn the population of a city of the approach of the Behemoth. Optimistically, this would give them time to find some sort of shelter, or get out of the city.

New York, as one of the bastions of the PRT and the Protectorate, had sirens aplenty installed by the morning of the twenty-sixth of March, nineteen hundred and ninety-four.

In the chill of the morning, at two minutes past three, these sirens began to wail.

* * *

**Saturday, March 26, 1994**

**New York City**

**8:34 AM, EST**

* * *

_Alexandria hovered over New York City, scanning the rooftops below, her expression intent, as if she could divine the location of the Behemoth by willpower alone. Legend moved up alongside her._

"_I'm thinking of turning the sirens off," he commented. "I think everyone's gotten the message."_

_She became aware once more of the sirens; they had been sounding non-stop for the last five hours and more. In her concentration, she had tuned them out._

"_No," she decided. "If we turn them off, then some idiots are going to think that it's all clear, and start coming back. And we can not afford that."_

"_Hm," he agreed, but didn't go away. Instead, he just hovered there, biting his lip. He was rarely this hesitant; normally, he would come right out with what he wanted to say._

"_Spit it out," she invited him._

"_Well," he began hesitantly, "this information you've got … what if it's wrong? One PRT analyst, in Chicago, decides that Sierra Mike Alpha is going to attack New York, today? Specifically?"_

_She fixed her gaze upon him; he didn't flinch, he didn't back off. Slowly, she nodded. "You make a good point," she admitted. "But the timing is about right. The location – well, we don't __**have**__ anything to go on for location, save for the last attack, when it emerged in a populated area. There's nothing to say that it won't do that again." She paused. "But that doesn't mean much, I agree. However, there's one last factor."_

"_What's that?" he asked._

"_I've met the analyst in question," she replied. "She … impressed me. She's the one who came up with the improved Master-Stranger protocols. And half a dozen other things, all of which have improved the running of the PRT without ever making the public eye."_

_Legend raised an eyebrow. "Christ. Someone impressed __**you?**__ That would have taken some doing."_

_Alexandria tilted her head in acknowledgement. "She has a reputation for brilliant intuitive leaps, for hunches that pan out more often than not. Even before the PRT formed, she had a degree in parahuman studies, criminology and psychology. Her commanding officer rang me directly; I'm willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. And besides … "_

_He nodded. "Yeah. And besides, it's better to run the sirens for a day and call it a 'drill' than call it off, just before the monster leaps up out of the earth and kills eight million people."_

-ooo-

The day wore on. The sirens continued to wail, to remind everyone that the Behemoth was coming. More and more parahumans arrived every hour, were assigned regions to patrol. Each was issued a radio and given strict instructions; if the creature emerged, they were to keep well back, and call for assistance. _All_ the assistance.

Heavy vehicles rumbled through the otherwise deserted midtown streets, carrying those parahumans without some sort of Mover ability. Radios crackled, but no-one called in a sighting. Overhead, the largest assemblage of flying parahumans that had ever come together in one place orbited the city, touching down here and there on the tallest buildings.

Elsewhere, every roadway, every bridge, every tunnel, was packed bumper-to-bumper with cars. Traffic jams were broken up whenever possible, by grim-faced, heavily-armed NYPD, SWAT and even PRT troopers. All traffic was decreed outbound only; both sides of every bridge and tunnel were given over to such traffic.

In New York Harbour, every boat that could be considered even remotely capable of doing so was dropping its moorings and putting out to sea. The surface of the water was dotted with craft crowded so closely together that only the fact that they were all travelling in roughly the same direction was preventing several collisions a minute. Horns and sirens sounded non-stop, echoing over the water. Several harbour patrol boats, backed up by Coast Guard cutters, were doing their best to keep order, but it wasn't easy.

Among the parahumans, the initial apprehension, the enthusiasm, began to wane. They had arrived keyed up for a battle, but it had not eventuated. Food supplies were flown in, served in shifts to parahumans, who went out again, to resume the endless patrolling. Grumbling, at first here and there, became widespread. If this was a drill, people asked, then why didn't they call it a day? And if it wasn't, then where the hell was the creature?

And then the first of Hero's seismic devices began to register something. A disturbance, moving closer.

Coming to the surface.

The word went out. Parahumans stopped grumbling as the apprehension took hold again. They began to converge on Central Park, where the strongest mini-quakes were being registered.

It was no hoax, no drill.

Behemoth was coming to New York City.

* * *

**Saturday, March 26, 1994**

**New York City**

**1:16 PM, EST**

* * *

"_Surround the park!" Legend's voice was urgent but steady. "Brutes to the fore, flyers in the air. We'll try to contain the creature here; force fields and barriers, behind the Brutes. Be warned; it can leap high and far. Be ready to take cover at a moment's notice; it can use sound and lightning as a weapon."_

_His voice carried to the other parahumans, even as the PRT troops that had delivered them to the site fell back. Normal humans, without even the meagre gifts the lowest-tier parahumans boasted, stood no chance at all in this coming battle._

_Beside him, Eidolon pointed. "There."_

_Below the Protectorate – the four heroes who formed the core of the larger teams – the water of the Reservoir was rippling in an odd manner. Waves splashed up on the shore, then receded dramatically. And then steam began to boil from the centre of the large body of water._

"_How deep is that?" asked Hero, hovering on the steady thrust of his jetpack._

"_Up to forty feet in places," Alexandria replied absently._

"_Christ," muttered Legend. "The Behemoth is at least forty-five feet tall. What's the bet that the water doesn't hamper him at all?"_

_Eidolon turned to him. "We can at least make it tougher on the bastard."_

_Legend nodded; he and Eidolon struck downward at the same time, using their powers in concert. Where Legend's blue beam hit, the water froze, ice radiating outward at a spectacular rate. Eidolon's ray was more subtle; it struck, without seeming to have any effect whatsoever. But the waves stilled, and suddenly, from within, the water began to freeze. The two effects met, combined, and the Reservoir was frozen solid._

_Except for a thirty-foot-wide space in the middle, which was still boiling steam. Mud and rocks began to spit upward as well._

_Both Eidolon and Legend, without even bothering to confer, turned their respective beams on the last unfrozen section. For a moment, even, it seemed that they would succeed; the water became sluggish, and the rocks seemed to freeze in motion._

_And then the central hundred feet of the frozen lake exploded up and outward, huge chunks of ice flying through the air. Only the reflexes of Legend and Eidolon, who vaporised the largest sections, and the force fields that had already been set up, managed to prevent anyone from being seriously injured._

_But now, in the hole that had been created, the monster now stood. Sierra Mike Alpha, better known as the Behemoth, had arrived._

_Alexandria was the first to react. With a battle cry, she rocketed downward at the foe. It answered with a roar that shook the leaves from the trees, shattered the ice filling the Reservoir, and broke many nearby windows._

_Eidolon and Legend followed shortly after; Hero stayed aloft to provide fire support._

_The Battle of New York had begun._

* * *

**Saturday, March 26, 1994**

**Chicago PRT Offices**

**1832 hours, CTZ**

* * *

Once the battle was over, the monster routed, the news began to roll in from the stricken city. Aerial shots of the devastation in Central Park, the charred remains where he had blasted his way out of the force-field cordon, were brought to us in living colour. The damage total was immense; several buildings had been brought down by the monster's rampage through the streets of New York. Others had been severely damaged, but not destroyed.

The death toll had been horrendous; not everyone had been able to get off the island. There had been those who had been trying to leave, and those who, despite the official warnings, had stayed on because they couldn't or wouldn't leave. These had still been in the city when Behemoth arrived, and many had paid the price. More numerous were the PRT troopers, the police officers, the firefighters, the military and reservists, who had done their duty while fire and destruction were raining down about them.

And of course, the capes. They had faced Behemoth directly. Heroes and villains had stood shoulder to shoulder, had faced the unbeatable, had bought time for more civilians to get away, and had died doing so.

For New York, it was a victory, dearly bought with the blood and lives of its defenders, a horrible victory, but a victory nonetheless. For the PRT, it was a public-relations coup like none other. Heroes and villains alike had heeded the call, had fought side by side.

Had died, side by side.

I was reminded, viscerally, of the devastation, the losses, of the last time I had faced the monster. Intellectually, I knew that today was a victory; Behemoth had been driven off with a relatively low death toll. Barely a tenth of the capes who had faced him were dead. More were injured, but most of those would recover. The civilian casualty list was only in the low thousands.

_Only._

I couldn't watch it, not when I knew that if I had told Hamilton earlier, more lives would have been saved. Would it have been so bad, to have told him the day before? To give the population of New York another six or twelve hours to evacuate?

The timing had been critical; too soon, and it would look too easy. Too late, and far more people would have been dead. No matter which way I looked at it, I could not find a perfect answer.

_I thought it would be easier than this._

-ooo-

There was a sharp rapping at the door to my quarters. I ignored it, curled on my bunk, tears still fresh on my cheeks.

"Lieutenant Snow!" It was Hamilton's voice. "Please open your door; you have a visitor."

I staggered off my bed, ran my fingers through my hair. Found my glasses. Stumbled to the door. Opened it.

Chief Director Costa-Brown stood there, alongside Director Rankine.

I came to attention, saluted. "Chief Director. I'm sorry, I … " My voice trailed to a halt.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," she told me bluntly. "May I come in?"

I stepped back. "Uh, yes, ma'am. Sorry for the, uh, mess."

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and eyed my quarters critically. My office had been disarranged with a purpose in mind; here, the mess was less deliberate and more spur of the moment. When I had gotten here after watching the images of the aftermath of New York, I had been … distraught. Many of my small knick-knacks lay about on the floor; I had thrown everything I could get my hands on, at the walls, at the floor. I had screamed curses until my throat was raw. At the height of my temper, I had kicked a hole in the thin wall-boarding. And then I had collapsed upon my bunk, sobbing.

"Sit," she ordered me, pointing at the bunk. Obediently, I sat.

Bending down, she picked up my chair from where it was jammed beneath the small desk – I vaguely recalled kicking it there, partway through my mental break – and righted it, turning it to face me. Sitting down upon it, she observed me.

"You've done some very fine work," she began.

"Uh, thank you -" I began.

She cut me off. "That didn't require an answer. It was a statement of fact. I was impressed by you when I first met you at the White House; were you aware of that?"

I blinked. "I – no, I didn't know that, ma'am."

Her smile was faint, rather dry, but it was a smile. "After that meeting, I made it a point to keep up with your work. You are known to be brilliant on occasion, intuitive when it suits you, and right far more often than you're wrong." She shook her head slightly. "But today … "

I waited, but she did not continue. "Uh, today, ma'am?"

Her gaze upon me sharpened considerably. "Today, you _astonished_ me. You managed to do something that none of our Thinkers, none of our precogs had managed to do. You predicted, accurately, the time and place that the Behemoth was due to emerge. How did you do that, exactly?"

I took off my glasses, scrubbed my face with my hands. "Ma'am, I look at the data and things just … fit together. I can't tell you how I know things, I just _know_ them."

"I see." Her gaze upon me was razor-sharp, flaying away the layers of my pretence, or so it felt. "When we last met, I asked you if you were a parahuman, if you had powers. You told me that you did not." She leaned forward. "Is this still the case?"

I put my glasses back on, met her gaze. "Ma'am, I'm not the world's foremost expert on parahuman powers. But I know a good deal about how they work, how people get them. How to spot them. I would _know_ if I had powers. And to the very best of my knowledge, I do not."

She held my gaze for a long moment, but I refused to look away, refused to fidget. I was telling the absolute truth; I did not have powers. _Lisa_ had powers, but Lisa wasn't me. I believed that, implicitly.

I had to.

Because I didn't want my best friend, my last link with the world I had left behind, to be dead.

She nodded once, sharply. "Very well. Be that as it may. I would like to extend to you an offer to come work directly with the upper levels of the PRT. A high-powered think-tank. You have proven yourself to be a problem-solver of the highest order, and your input would be greatly valued."

I stared at her, then shook my head convulsively. "Ma'am," I whispered. "Thank you, but I can't."

She stared at me; I wrapped my arms around myself.

"What do you mean, you _can't?"_ she demanded.

I began to rock back and forth on the bed, hugging myself. "I'm sorry," I whimpered. "I can't do that. Not again. I can't make that sort of decision over life and death. Please don't make me."

"Snow," she stated flatly, "people would have died no matter what you did today. What you did saved _lives._ You can't blame yourself."

I shook my head. "And the people who wouldn't have even been there? The people who died in accidents, trying to get away? The people who died when Behemoth collapsed the Holland Tunnel? I killed them, as surely as if I had put a gun to their heads, myself. I can't do that, not again. I can't face it."

I was hunched over, not looking at her, not wanting to face her. Not wanting her to see my deception. Part of what I was saying was true; I didn't want to become part of a group tasked with solving problems. Certainly, I could help make the world a better place. But the problems I would be faced with solving would not be the problems I wanted to solve. And I've always done much better without oversight.

"Snow," she began.

I put my hands over my ears, shaking my head. "No," I whimpered. "No, no, no."

Alexandria knew how to read people; I knew how to fake psychological reactions. It just remained to see who would give up first.

She tried to speak to me a few more times; I refused to listen. I heard her get up, walk to the door. She paused then, and spoke. "If you ever change your mind, Snow, let me know."

I gave no indication that I had heard her; after a moment, she sighed, opened the door, and left.

A few minutes later, I heard the door open again. Footsteps trod across the floorboards, paused in front of me.

"Snow."

Major Hamilton's voice was soft; I barely heard it. He knelt before me. "Lieutenant Snow," he asked quietly, compassionately. "Are you all right?"

Lieutenants do not hug Majors. It's not a done thing. There are probably regulations about it, somewhere. But I flung my arms around him, and did my best to pretend to burst into tears.

He must not have read that regulation either, because he put his arms around me, and patted me gently on the back.

After a while, I found that I didn't have to pretend; the tears came all too easily.

* * *

**Chicago PRT Offices**

**Sunday, March 27, 1994**

* * *

I stood at attention before Major Hamilton's desk.

"I'm very sorry, sir," I told him, my voice subdued. "It won't happen again."

He shook his head impatiently. "Snow," he told me in a tone of voice that combined amusement with exasperation, "you did nothing wrong. You were overwrought and were suffering from a lack of sleep."

I took a deep breath. "Sir -"

He raised a finger. "I wasn't finished, Snow."

"Yes, sir." I waited.

He leaned forward on his desk with his elbows. "What you did yesterday was nothing less than a miracle, Snow. You warned us in enough time that a great many people were able to evacuate the city. The damage and the casualties were both far less than they could have been. Whatever did happen there was _not your fault."_

I knew better; even without my input, Behemoth would have been driven away with only relatively minor damage to the city. Less now, due to me, but my warning hadn't been _crucial._ Nor had it allowed them to drive him off with no casualties, no damage. I had merely … shifted things around, a bit.

After a pause, he went on. "And as for how you reacted afterward; well, I can't blame you for that either. You're a brilliant young officer, but you've never seen large-scale casualties before."

_Oh, how wrong you are._

-ooo-

I _had_ been in Endbringer battles before, and more, but two things were different now. The first was that I had normally been able to put my emotions away from me, into my swarm, to allow me to think and act with clarity. The second was that previously, I had been _in_ there, in the action. Not responsible for it. This time around, I had made decisions, supplied information. Caused a lot of it to happen.

It was sobering, jarring. But in a way, it was comforting. It made my next big step just a little easier. Because for that step, only one person was going to have to die.

-ooo-

I took a deep breath. "I still should have handled it better, sir."

He chuckled warmly. "Lieutenant Snow, if you believe that you're the first young officer to have cried on my shoulder, then … well, to be honest, you'd be correct, but there are many that have come close. And I must admit, it was a first to have to ask your Sergeant to help me tuck you into bed, but it was somewhat refreshing to find that there were feet of clay under your perfect exterior, after all."

I was a little startled. "I, uh, sir, I don't think I'm -"

"Perfect?" He smiled paternally. "Of course you don't. But that's the appearance that you present. You try so hard to get it right every single time. And you _do_ get it right so often." He leaned forward, lowering his voice slightly. "I'll let you in on a little secret, Snow."

"Uh, a secret, sir?"

A nod. "Yes. You see, I've been in this game since before 'military intelligence' became a joke phrase. And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that even if you do manage to get the right information to the right people at the right time, nine times out of ten, it's either obsolete, they ignore it, or it doesn't make a difference anyway."

I blinked. "Oh."

Lowering his glasses, he looked at me over them. "'Oh' is right, young Snow. So often, we suffer disappointments. What just happened yesterday, no matter what else it was, was not a disappointment. We made a _difference._ Never forget that. And just for the record? Although I am _officially _unhappy that you turned down Director Costa-Brown's offer, I am unofficially rather pleased. I am selfish enough, you see, that I don't want to lose my best analyst to Washington."

The feeling in his voice was plain enough that I felt a flush rising in my cheeks. "I, uh, I like it here too, sir."

"Good." He cleared his throat, sat back in his chair, and squared his shoulders. "And in other matters, it has apparently been decided that our contribution to the victory yesterday was sufficient to warrant a promotion and a medal for you, and a promotion for myself. The medal will be forthcoming in a ceremony this evening, but I am pleased to state that the promotions are effective immediately. Congratulations, _Captain_ Snow."

He stood, walked around his desk, and solemnly shook my hand. I gripped his hand firmly. "This means that you're a lieutenant colonel now, sir?"

His eyes twinkled behind the half-moon glasses. "As sharp as ever, Captain Snow. Well done." His uniform jacket was hanging over his chair; he put it on, revealing his new rank insignia.

_Of course. He didn't want me to make the connection until he told me._

"I'm not sure that I'm really ready, sir," I ventured. "After yesterday and all … "

He nodded understandingly. "I can see why you would feel like that, Snow. Which is why I am also authorising four weeks of convalescent leave for you, effective as of tomorrow morning. Doctor Oaks has signed off on it. Go home, reconnect with your friends and family. Smell the flowers. Unwind." He smiled again, warmly. "It will all still be here when you get back."

I smiled back. "Thank you, sir. And congratulations on your promotion as well."

"I couldn't have done it without you, Captain. And that's the honest truth. Dismissed."

I saluted, about-faced, and marched from his office.

I was now a captain. _Another step complete._

-ooo-

When I got back to my quarters, Kinsey was laying out my uniform jacket. Without much in the way of surprise, I noted that it bore captain's insignia.

"You knew," I noted.

He turned and treated me to a parade ground perfect salute. "Captain Snow," he greeted me; it seemed to me that there was a smile hidden somewhere on that impassive visage.

I saluted him back. "Sergeant." I paused. "When did you find out?"

"The lieutenant colonel spoke to me about it last night, ma'am."

I raised an eyebrow. "But you didn't see fit to tell me about it this morning."

Not a flicker disturbed his expression. "It did not seem to be my place, ma'am."

I sighed and gave up. "Well then, I presume he told you that I'm taking four weeks off, as of tomorrow. So you're going to have to find something else to do."

"Oh no, ma'am," he replied blandly. "Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton has assigned me to accompany you on your leave."

I stopped, stared. "You're _joking."_

He shook his head. "No, ma'am. Where you go, I go. Those were almost his exact words."

"We'll see about _that,_" I retorted grimly, and left the quarters at the double.

-ooo-

I knocked once on the frame of Hamilton's office door, then entered. He looked up mildly at me as I saluted.

"Ah, Snow, you're back," he greeted me genially, returning the salute. "Was there something you would like to discuss with me?"

Standing at attention, so that I would not be tempted to bang my fist on his desk, I gritted out, "I understand that you're assigning me Kinsey as a nursemaid on this leave, sir. I would like to register a protest."

A pronounced line formed between his bushy brows as he stared at me. "A _nursemaid_, Snow? Surely not."

"What else would you call it, sir?" I retorted. "I'm going on medical leave. For a mental breakdown. Is Kinsey along to make sure I don't do anything stupid, like hurt myself, or go AWOL?"

His brows lowered. _"Are_ you likely to do something like that, Snow? No, no, don't answer that. The question is both insulting and ridiculous. No, of course Sergeant Kinsey isn't along for anything so mundane as that. If I thought that was ever a danger, I would not be sending you on leave; I would be sending you straight to therapy."

His reasonable tone, his open expression, allowed me to collect my thoughts. I began to feel more than a little foolish. "I … uh, sorry, sir. Then may I ask _why_ you're sending Kinsey along with me?"

"To protect you from Director Costa-Brown, of course," he replied, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. "She wants you on her team; after all, you predicted New York_._ Just having you there would be a huge feather in her cap. So Sergeant Kinsey will be going along, to run interference for you. Just in case the Chief Director's people have decided to not take no for an answer, and choose to approach you there."

The last of the anger drained away from me. " … oh." I flushed. "I'm really, really sorry, sir."

He smiled gently at me. "I value you quite highly, Captain Snow. Both as a person, and as an analyst. I would not have you forced into any decisions that you did not agree with."

I nodded. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I appreciate the forethought, sir." Coming to attention, I saluted. "May I be dismissed, sir? I suspect I may need to apologise to Sergeant Kinsey."

Casually, he returned the salute. "Dismissed, Captain."

By the time I had left the office, he was already scanning the papers before him once more.

I didn't go immediately back to my quarters. I had a bit to think about.

Hamilton sending Kinsey along with me to Brockton Bay wasn't something I had anticipated, but it _was_ something I could work around, given time.

I was just going to have to be careful about it.

* * *

End of Part 3-4


	20. Chapter 20

\o/

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 4-1: Back to Brockton Bay

* * *

_I lay full-length on a surfboard, wearing my Skitter-patterned bikini and a pair of my old yellow swimming goggles. Lisa lay on her back alongside me,on her own board; she wore her Tattletale bikini. Around us, the ocean was vast, with slowly heaving green swells, affording the occasional glimpse of an island in the distance ahead of us. The crash and boom of breaking surf was a distant underpinning to the screeches of seagulls overhead._

_The sun was warm on my back. I lay in comfort, my chin pillowed on my crossed arms._

_**New hobby, huh?**__ I murmured._

"_I kinda like it," Lisa replied, just as lazily. "Lets me think about things."_

_**It **_**is**_** very relaxing, **__I admitted._

_Lisa rolled her head sideways to shoot me her fox-like grin. "If you can't relax inside your own head … "_

_**As I recall, **__I teased her, __**that was always a problem **_**you**_** had.**_

_She snorted. "Yeah. One thing about being dead, it kinda changes your perspective on life. You learn to take the long view."_

_I decided to not even go there. __**Yeah well, with the way things were going, I was never sure that I was going to **_**get**_** a long life. Given all the shit that was happening around me.**_

"_But you were always in there, slugging," Lisa told me. She rolled up on to her elbow. "And now you're here, fixing shit."_

_I stirred the water with a fingertip. It was cool and inviting. I could just roll off the board. Submerge myself in it. __**Still a lot of shit to fix.**_

"_Are you surprised? It's only been what, four and a half years? There's thirty years of problems for you to overcome, here. And you __**know**__ how it gets more difficult if you try to tackle a specific problem too early or too late."_

_**Yeah, yeah, I know.**__ I turned to face her. __**Just kind of gets on top of me from time to time, you know?**_

_Lisa sat up and turned so that her legs were dangling off the edge of the board. "You know what your problem is?"_

_**What's my problem?**_

"_You need to get laid."_

_I snorted. __**Please tell me you're not volunteering.**_

_Mischief danced in her eyes."Nope."_

_**Then you're referring to Andrea. Which might be a little difficult, given that I've got Sergeant Nursemaid along. She has enough trouble getting me alone long enough to break through my defences as it is.**_

_She rolled her eyes. "No, not Andrea. Although she __**is**__ very good for you."_

_I eyed her. __**Do tell, then.**_

_Playfully, she splashed water at me. "Make your problem into your solution, duh!"_

_It took me a few seconds to track her logic. __**Kinsey?**_

_She nodded, eyes bright, grin lurking on her lips. "He's just your type. Big, brawny, built like the side of a barn. __**And**__ he's got a thing for you."_

_I sighed. __**I made a play for him once before, remember? When I got drunk off my head at the wedding reception. He turned me down. I think that's a pretty definite 'no'.**_

_She shook her head. "Many factors there, most of which involved his sense of duty and the fact that he also respects you as much as he thinks you're hot. So he's not about to do anything that's not one hundred percent your idea."_

_**Also,**__ I pointed out, __**if I did that thing, and he didn't just turn me down flat because of regulations, and we got caught, so very much shit promptly lands on us from a great height, and our plans get set back so far it's not funny. Not least of which being that I'd lose him as a right hand man.**_

_Lisa shrugged. "Don't get caught?"_

_**Says everyone involved in every ill-advised venture in history, ever. Besides, if I swing and miss, or even if I do get him into bed, he's going to see me differently. And I'm not sure if I'm ready for that.**_

_Lisa pulled her legs out of the water; she knelt up on her board and began to paddle, starting herself moving in toward shore. "You do realise that everything you do makes people look at you differently. If you start something with Kinsey, he's more likely to be on side when the real shit starts going down."_

_I followed suit, digging my hands deep into the cool green water. __**And if he decides that I'm a bad person and a bad officer for making a move on him?**_

_Lisa shot me a glance. "You really think that's likely?"_

_**It might happen. **__My tone was defensive._

"_Pfft, yeah. Right. Kinsey thinks you walk on water." She patted the water alongside her board to illustrate; ripples spread out from her hand._

_**Kinsey had to help Hamilton put me to bed when I totally fell apart after Behemoth. **_**And**_** there was that aforementioned drunken pass. I'm not sure what Kinsey thinks of me, but 'perfect' is not it.**_

_We were in a current now, and the water was rippling around us as we moved toward the shore. The swells were starting to build higher, and the troughs falling lower._

_Lisa shook her head. "Nobody's perfect. But you've done amazing things. Kinsey can see that."_

_The roar of breakers was louder now; I had to raise my voice slightly. __**But what if it goes bad?**_

_Lisa grinned at me. "What if it doesn't?"_

_I had no time to answer; a massive swell was rising under us. We paddled frantically to get on top of it. She climbed to her feet with the ease of what looked like long practice; I wobbled upright, trying hard not to let the damn board slide from under me._

_The swell under us continued to grow and build, the water humping up as the ocean bed got shallower. All of a sudden, we were standing on the crest of a travelling mountain of ocean, rolling in toward the shoreline at what seemed to be a breakneck pace._

_Lisa yelled in exhilaration; I was concentrating on shifting my balance so that I didn't slide down the face of the wave, or fall off the back. Around us, it started to break, white shreds tearing loose and being whipped away by the wind. The wave thundered in toward the shore; I grinned tightly, enjoying myself immensely despite the seeming danger._

_At the last moment, I lost it; the board slid forward, I came off, and the breaker dumped on top of me. Tons of green water surrounded me, and I couldn't even figure out which way was up; bubbles were going in all different directions. But I pulled my billy-cord in, grabbed my board, and let it buoy me to the surface. The wave receded, leaving me knee-deep in water, with sand in my ears. And everywhere else. My goggles had protected my eyes, but they were about the only parts of me that hadn't gotten sand in them, or so it seemed._

_Lisa was standing on shore, waving; I trudged out of the water to meet her, carrying my board. On the way, I spat out sand, and removed a strand of seaweed that was decorating my hair._

_**I thought you said it was easy?**_

_Her grin was unrepentant. "I said it was fun."_

_I nodded, reluctantly. __**Yeah. It **_**was**_** fun.**__ I smiled. __**Thanks for bringing me here. And thanks for the talk.**_

_Her look was serious. "Think about what I said. He's a good man."_

_I sighed. __**I'll think about it. No promises.**_

_She hugged me; I returned it. Warm skin to warm skin, reminding me unexpectedly of Andrea. Comforting._

_Without her needing to prompt me, I kissed her. Her lips tasted of salt water as well as dust and blood._

_I closed my eyes …_

-ooo-

* * *

**Monday, March 28, 1994**

**Interstate 90**

**New York State**

* * *

… and opened them, to see the highway rolling past; Kinsey was a steady, stolid presence in the driver's seat. I could hear the thrumming of the tyres over the blacktop, the music playing very softly in the background. No, not music. A sounds-of-nature tape. Breaking waves and screeching seagulls.

_How much of that made it into my dream? _I wondered.

Carefully, trying not to be too obvious about it, I stretched. A few vertebrae popped; Kinsey glanced over at me, made very brief eye contact, nodded, then put his attention back on the road.

"I trust the captain enjoyed her nap?" he observed blandly.

"The captain," I replied, "prefers to sleep in a bed. But yes, Sergeant, I did enjoy the nap. Thank you." I paused. "Where are we?"

"New York State Throughway, ma'am," he responded crisply. "We're twenty minutes out of Buffalo."

I blinked. "I must have needed that sleep more than I thought. How long was I out?"

I saw his eyes flick to the dashboard clock. "Two hours, forty-five minutes, ma'am. Since just after we bypassed Erie."

The clock, I saw, read 17:21. We'd been on the road more than eight hours. The sun wasn't down yet, but it would be in another couple of hours. And Kinsey had to be tired of driving.

"Pull over at the next rest stop," I told him. "I need to get out, stretch my legs. And then I'll take over driving for a bit."

"Ma'am, a captain does not drive a sergeant," he responded automatically.

"I'm not a captain at the moment," I retorted testily. "I'm on leave. Off duty." I plucked at the collar of my decidedly non-regulation blouse. "Not in uniform."

"Ma'am, a captain is always a captain," Kinsey replied quietly, with a note of gentle admonishment. "One does not simply put off the rank with the uniform." He paused. "In any case, I _am _on duty."

I stared at him. "You are?"

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton specifically ordered me to accompany you to Brockton Bay, and to maintain a protective detail on you, until you returned to duty. If I were not on duty, I would not be obliged to carry out that order. As I _am_ carrying out that order, I am therefore on duty, and I must act accordingly."

I thought for a moment. "And if I ordered you to let me drive?"

He raised an eyebrow. "That would depend, ma'am."

"On what, exactly?" I queried, eyeing him suspiciously.

"On whether the captain considers herself to be still a captain, and thus able to issue such orders, or whether she considers herself to be a civilian at the moment, and thus unable to give lawful orders to serving members of the PRT." His face never cracked a smile, but I got the distinct impression that he was grinning broadly.

"And of course, if I consider myself to be a captain," I worked out, "we're back to 'captains do not drive sergeants'. Right?"

"Exactly correct, ma'am," he praised me.

I shot him a dirty look. "Do you practise being a smartass barracks-room lawyer, or does it come naturally?"

"I _was_ an MP before I came into your service, ma'am," he reminded me. "I had to know the regulations forward and backward, so that the _other_ smartass barracks-room lawyers couldn't trip me up."

I had to smile. He had neatly trapped me. No matter which way I went, he won the argument.

"Okay, fine, Kinsey. You got me. I don't do the driving."

"Very good, ma'am." His voice was as bland as ever, but I still got the impression that he was smiling. Sergeant Kinsey had hidden depths; I only glimpsed them every now and again, but it was always educational when I did.

"But you can still pull over at a rest stop. I would like to get out and stretch my legs."

He nodded. "Of course, ma'am. Batavia'll be coming up soon; there'll be gas stations there." A glance at the fuel gauge. "And it'll be a good place to fill up, too."

I made a snap decision. "Tell you what, Kinsey. We're not going to make Brockton Bay tonight. Pull in to Batavia, and we'll find a motel. Head off first thing tomorrow."

He nodded judiciously. "Very good, ma'am. I would have liked to press on to Rochester, but I don't believe that the captain is in any particular hurry … ?"

I snorted. "If I was in a hurry, Sergeant, we would have taken a plane. And you know how much we both love flying."

He didn't quite snort in reply, but I knew the direction of his thoughts. Kinsey was a big man, broad and muscular. Not as tall as me, but there were quite a few men who weren't as tall as me. Neither of us was built to fit comfortably into a cramped airline seat, except maybe first class, and we didn't rate that.

Ironically, Andrea could have shelled out enough money to finance us on a first-class flight around the world, and not noticed the loss. But I couldn't access our shared funds for something like that, not without someone noticing. So it was either a long car drive, or an uncomfortable flight, and Kinsey had noted, I wasn't in any particular hurry. Also, he and I were quite comfortable in one another's company for hours at a time; we had proven that on the road trip at the beginning of the month, the one that had gone via New York, and taken us three days to get to Brockton Bay. This time it would take us two easy days, as we were travelling a much more direct route.

* * *

While Kinsey was filling the car, I went in to pay for the fuel. While I was there, I picked out a few odds and ends, such as chap stick – driving in air conditioning tended to dry out the lips – and a bottle of the iced coffee that Kinsey liked. Bringing my purchases to the counter, I enquired about nearby motels.

"Oh, that's easy, ma'am," the attendant replied. "You turn right, around the corner, and half a block down that way. Can't miss it. Big purple neon sign." As he spoke, he swiped the items and bagged them, then rang up the purchase. "With the fuel … that'll be fifty-one seventy-three, ma'am."

I pondered on the honorific, then decided that, despite the fact that I was only about four or five years older than him, he was actually being polite and not ironic.

As I was pulling the purse out of my handbag, the sliding door behind me _whooshed_ open, and two men entered. I half-turned my head to get a look at them, and immediately, my instincts went to high alert; long coats, collars pulled up, baseball caps pulled down, sunglasses which they had not taken off once they got into the store.

I shoved my purse back into the bag, then closed my hand over something else. "Get down," I told the polite young man in a low voice. "Get down now."

He stared at me. "Ma'am?"

"Holdup," I snapped, then turned as one of the men started toward us. They were both bringing long-barrelled weapons out from under their coats; I dropped my handbag, maintaining my grip on the Glock 26 that I kept in my handbag. It wasn't a big pistol, of a size to fit in my handbag more than anything else, but it was still a reasonably deadly weapon, in trained hands. And I had spent many hours at the range, making sure that yes, I was trained.

Before their gun barrels were even halfway to the horizontal, I had my weapon up and aimed, one hand braced over the other.

"Drop the guns!" I screamed.

The idiot facing me didn't listen, didn't drop his gun; the barrel kept on coming up. It was a shotgun, I registered absently, the pump-action type. His buddy started to turn, the shotgun barrel swinging around toward me.

I didn't hesitate another instant. Body armour was a thing, and he was only fifteen feet away, so I discarded the idea of a centre-mass shot. Plus, his shotgun was almost high enough to shoot me in the feet; if I didn't put him down _now_, he could still tag me. My sights were already on the bridge of his nose; I squeezed the trigger twice. The pistol jolted against my palm, and each flat _crack_ echoed loud in the enclosed space.

Crimson blossomed across his face; he crumpled without a sound. The shotgun did not go off when it hit the floor, which was something I had been a little worried about. Modern weapons do not, as a rule, go off when dropped, but when a dead man's finger is tangled in the trigger guard, anything can happen.

His buddy was still turning, gun barrel still tracking toward me, but he should have turned left and not right. As it was, his right side was facing toward me, his arm a perfect target. This time, I fired three times; wrist, elbow, shoulder. The pistol jolted with each shot, but tracked nicely; each shot went exactly where I wanted it.

His hand convulsed, and he blew away a sunglasses display before dropping the shotgun. It clattered to the ground, and he followed a moment later, falling to his knees. His left hand reached over to clasp his ruined right arm, and then he slumped over on to his side. I stepped over, kicking the shotguns away from the wounded and dead men respectively. Then I checked for a pulse in the first man I had shot. I didn't expect to find one, and I was correct; even coming out of a subcompact pistol, one nine-mill bullet will put some hurt on a man. Two will ruin his whole day, and that's if you _don't _hit something vital.

I glanced out into the forecourt, and noted Kinsey on the way in. He had a third man, similarly dressed to the other two, whose right arm seemed to be dangling oddly. Kinsey had his left arm in an iron grip, and a large-calibre automatic pistol pressing up under the man's jaw.

The sergeant said something as he entered, but I didn't catch it; after five shots from my pistol and the blast from the shotgun, my ears were ringing like a church bell. _This is why we use ear protection._

"What?" I half-shouted.

He caught on immediately. _Good man, Kinsey. _"Caught this one trying to crash the party," he repeated, raising his voice and speaking more slowly. He glanced over the carnage. "You're not hurt, ma'am?"

"No, Sergeant," I assured him, then half-turned toward the attendant. He was still standing, still goggling at the two men on the floor. In turn, I raised my voice. "Call nine-one-one. _Now_."

He nodded convulsively. "Yes, _ma'am,"_ he declared, snatching up the phone.

Kinsey and I shared a glance. _Civilians._

* * *

The police detective handed me my ID back, and turned to a fresh page of his notepad. I tucked the ID away, maintaining an expression of mild interest, although I was starting to feel a little irritated.

"Now then, uh, Ms Snow," he began.

I cleared my throat politely. _"Captain_ Snow, if you don't mind," I reminded him gently. "I went through a great deal of training and hardship to get my commission, after all."

"Fine," he retorted. "Captain Snow it is, then. How is it that a twenty-two year old woman ends up as a captain, anyway?"

I wasn't quite sure whether he was most dubious about my gender or my age - he looked to be about forty, himself - but I got the impression that he was trying to bait me out. If I responded in kind, he'd have an excuse to push harder. My instinct was to escalate, to destroy him, but there was more than one way to escalate.

"That, Detective ... Fowler, was it?" He nodded. "Right. That information, I'm afraid, is classified. I am bound by law not to tell you, or anyone else lacking the appropriate clearance."

Fowler's expression was akin to that of someone who had just bitten into an orange and found it to be a lemon. "Classified," he grunted. "Right. How the hell does a _promotion_ end up being classified?"

"When it's a matter of national security," I replied sweetly. "If you want to know any more, I suggest you call my commanding officer, at the number I gave you. Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton."

"I'll do that," he growled. "Fine. So what's the PRT doing in this part of the country, anyway? Those three jokers you took down aren't parahumans. They're just a bunch of lowlives that've been hitting the gas stations and diners in the area."

"Never thought they were," I replied. "But when someone pulls out a shotgun in my general direction, I tend to object."

"If by 'object' you mean 'shoot them in the face'," he translated, "yeah, I got it. But I had a look at that pocket pistol you say you popped them with. How the hell did you nail them from across the room like that? It's got an accurate range of about five feet."

"One," I stated, "our armourer worked it over and accurised it for me. Two, I was captain of the pistol team in ROTC, all the way through college. Three, I've been shooting every week since I joined the PRT. But I'd like it back once you're finished with it, please. It's a new model from Glock, and it's not in general circulation yet."

"No can do, _Captain,_" he replied, loading the honorific with irony. "What you did might be a righteous shoot, being self defence and all, but whatever concealed carry license you've got from Illinois won't fly here. So your weapons are gonna be confiscated until further notice. And that's if we _don't _charge you for carrying concealed without a license."

I sighed and pulled out my ID wallet again. "Look again, Detective," I told him, flipping it over to show the concealed carry authority. "That's not a state issue. That's _Federal_. Because I'm a Federal employee. It's good for anywhere in the United States."

He stared at the card. "How the fuck – seriously, what the fuck are they doing, issuing something like that to you PRT guys? I'm a cop, and _I_ can't get something like that."

"I'm Intelligence Division," I told him. "And that goes no farther than you and me. I get to carry concealed because sometimes I might have to go undercover. Sergeant Kinsey gets to carry concealed, because he's my protective detail."

He gritted his teeth. "But you're on leave. You don't get to keep using that card when you're off duty -"

"Detective Fowler, do you stop being a detective when you go home and take your badge off?" I interrupted. "No? Because the same goes for me. I don't stop being a captain just because I'm out of uniform. I'm a captain in the PRT, and that's the beginning and the end of it. So I'll have my gun back, please. Also, Sergeant Kinsey will need his service weapon returned to him as well."

"It'll be done," he growled. "But you never answered my question about what you were doing here."

"Just passing through, actually," I told him. "We were going to get a motel, just down the road -"

"No, you're not," he replied bluntly. "We're going to return your weapons, get your details, then you're going the get the fuck out of my town before you shoot someone else. Or by all that's holy, I _will_ find something to arrest you on."

I wanted to snap back at him, but something told me that if I pushed any harder, he'd dig his heels in. And as it was, I didn't want to antagonise the locals any more than absolutely necessary.

"... fine," I responded. "We'll go. Get out of your town. Leave you alone."

"Why, thank you so _very_ much," he retorted sarcastically. "Just one thing before you go. Unless it's classified, of course."

I raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"Are you two some kinda special ops team? Counter-terrorism or something? Or just a straight up assassination squad?"

I grinned; I couldn't help it. "Nope. I'm an intelligence analyst. He's just along for the ride."

Leaving him staring at my back, I went to collect our weapons.

-ooo-

* * *

**2005 Hours**

**Interstate 90**

**New York State**

* * *

The highway sign informed us that just past the overpass was Exit 47, which led on to Interstate 490, by which we could reach LeRoy, which we didn't need, and Rochester, which we did. Kinsey stayed in the right-hand lane; when the exit came up, he eased back to forty and indicated to move over. As we took the exit, several cars accelerated and whipped past us.

I had been silent since we left Batavia, but now I turned to Kinsey.

"Sergeant, that's the first firefight I've ever been involved in. Was there anything I should have done differently?"

He took one hand off of the wheel to rub at his chin with finger and thumb; stubble rasped under his fingertips. "I really can't say, ma'am. I wasn't there at the start."

I nodded, acknowledging his point. "Okay, but what would _you_ have done differently?"

A pause, while he frowned in concentration. I listened to the tyres on the road, the murmur of the engine, while he worked through it.

"Would've tapped 'em both in the head," he decided at last. "Less muss, less fuss. Dead perps are easier to handle than live prisoners."

"Think I should've, too?" I asked. "I mean, I killed that one guy because I was a bit rushed, but the other one was a good second away from lining up on me. It was an easy shot."

"I would have," he told me honestly. "But ma'am, you're not me. You made the call to take that one alive, and you did it. I can't fault that."

I nodded slowly. "Thanks, Kinsey. I appreciate it."

There was almost a smile on the hard planes of his face. "You're welcome, ma'am. I'm just glad to see that being an intel weenie hasn't made you totally soft."

I snorted. "Soft, my ass. Next chance we get, we're going on the mat, and seeing just how soft I've gotten."

This time, he showed his teeth, ever so slightly. "Always willing to oblige, ma'am."

-ooo-

Some little time later, Kinsey shook my shoulder, jolting me out of a light doze. "Hm? What?"

"We're here, ma'am," he advised me. "First motel I came to that had vacancies." He gestured through the windshield at the motel frontage before us; a grinning cartoon cowboy pointed at a lit-up 'VACANCY' sign.

I nodded, still collecting my thoughts. "Okay, thanks, Kinsey. I'll just go get us rooms."

Opening the door, I swung my legs out of the car, then gasped as the cold air hit me. It had to be thirty degrees at the most, out there. Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I stood up and closed the door.

One good thing about the chilly night air; it woke me up. By the time I reached the reception desk, I was feeling as though I'd just jumped into a freezing-cold swimming pool.

The attendant, a wizened old man, peered at me through Coke-bottle-thick horn-rimmed glasses.

"Welcome to the Ten-Gallon Motel," he quavered. "Can I help you?"

I nodded. "You've got rooms vacant?" I asked.

He shook his head mournfully. "Nope."

I turned my head to stare again at the lit-up sign outside. It clearly stated 'VACANCY'.

"But your sign -" I began.

"We don't got_ rooms_," he told me. "We got _a _room. That's all. Convention in town, or some such."

"Ah," I responded. Almost, I turned and left. But I paused. I really didn't want to spend any more time on the road, tonight. "Not a double?" If I was to share a bed with Kinsey … I wasn't sure what would happen. _Either something really good … or something really bad._

He was shaking his head again. "Nope. Two singles. You an' your man, you want a double, you c'n push 'em together."

I sighed. The air in the office smelled of old man and carpet slippers. "We'll take it."

* * *

The room was a little musty, so I turned on the ceiling fan as soon as I entered. Kinsey followed, lugging our suitcases. I knew that mine was not light, and I had no idea how heavy his was, but he made light work of them. I really could not help noticing how his muscles bulged under his shirt. As he placed the cases on the floor, one beside each narrow, uncomfortable-looking single bed, I locked the door and flipped the latch over.

My heart thumped in my chest as I turned to look at him. _This can go so many ways right now, many of them bad._ He looked back at me, and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he could see right into my thoughts.

I cleared my throat. "Kinsey." _I need you to take me to bed and make love to me._

He straightened his back. "Yes, ma'am?"

I chickened out. I _felt_ myself chicken out. "You shower first. I'll want a long one, and I don't want to use up your hot water."

A firm nod. "Yes, ma'am."

Opening his suitcase, he extracted his toiletries from it, as well as various clothing. Humming some sort of march, he entered the tiny bathroom and closed the door behind him. Closing my eyes, I slowly beat the back of my head on the door behind me.

_I faced Leviathan. Echidna. Behemoth. I let Brian be my boyfriend. Why can't I take this step?_

'Regulations' seemed to be the only answer. And it seemed a most inadequate one.

* * *

Once Kinsey was out of the shower – two minutes and forty seconds, by my watch – I waited until he was in bed, then turned out the light and went to take my own shower. I ran the water hot at first, cleaning the grime of the day off of me. Then I ran it cold, until I shivered under it, until my thoughts of sneaking by 'mistake' into Kinsey's bed were quashed.

The shower finished, I towelled myself dry as vigorously as I could, then dressed in my night clothes and wrapped myself in my bathrobe. Turning off the light before I exited the bathroom, I navigated across the room and climbed into my bed.

Fortunately (or perhaps _un_fortunately), Kinsey wasn't there by 'mistake' to share it with me.

Pulling off the bathrobe and draping it on the end of the bed, I snuggled down under the covers. Warmth returned, and with it comfort, despite the lack of softness in the mattress itself. I was just drifting off to sleep when I heard Kinsey's voice in the darkness.

"Ma'am."

I blinked myself back to awareness. "Yes, Kinsey?" I ventured, my heart rate picking up.

"Is the captain aware that she talks in her sleep?"

I froze. I'd slept in the car, twice. Had conversations with Lisa in that time. It had been so long since I had slept with anyone not in the know, that I'd almost forgotten that little aspect about my dream forays within my own head.

"I … had thought I might, but I wasn't sure. Did I say anything damaging, Kinsey?"

"Nothing of any real note, ma'am," he replied. Was that amusement I heard in his voice? "It wasn't very clear. You mentioned my name a few times, once in the context of Sergeant Nursemaid."

_Ah. So that's what he's amused about._

"I – I'm sorry, Sergeant," I blurted, my cheeks heating up until they must be surely glowing in the dark. "I really don't think of you that way." _How I'm __**starting**__ to think of you, however, is something else altogether. Dammit._

"That's all right, ma'am," he assured me. "I just thought you might need to know about it."

"I appreciate it, Kinsey," I told him. "I really do."

"Good night, ma'am."

"Good night, Kinsey."

Rolling over, I snuggled down again and closed my eyes. I must have been really tired, because despite my disquieting thoughts, I was asleep in moments.

-ooo-

* * *

**Tuesday, March 29, 1994**

* * *

We were up early the next morning; Kinsey's internal clock woke him at five AM, rain or shine. While he freshened up in the bathroom, I picked up the room phone and dialled out.

It took a few rings for Hamilton to pick up, but pick up he did.

"_You've got Hamilton."_

"Sir, this is Captain Snow."

"_Ah, Snow. I heard about the little adventure you had in Batavia. Their constabulary has been on the line to me. The impression I get is that they're a little upset over how efficiently you dispatched the would-be robbers."_

I grimaced. "Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. They didn't seem to like the PRT very much there."

He let out a warm fatherly chuckle. _"I wouldn't worry about that, Snow. I'm just pleased that you came out of it in one piece."_

"Me too, sir," I assured him. "Kinsey did his bit, too."

"_I am aware, Snow," _he agreed. _"The local news has gotten ahold of it, by the way. I'm keeping your identities suppressed, but it's a feather in our caps to show the PRT in a positive light like this."_

"Is it really positive?" I asked dubiously. "I shot that one guy right in the head."

"_By the time they finished interviewing that young man, the attendant, you'd better believe that it's positive," _he told me. _"Besides, those men had a reputation for being trigger-happy. You reacted first, you reacted fastest, and you reacted correctly."_

"Oh, uh, thank you, sir." I paused; Kinsey had just emerged from the bathroom. "I need to get ready to go. Would you like to speak with Sergeant Kinsey?"

"_Certainly. And once again, Captain, well done."_

I felt myself blush, just a little, from the praise. Getting up off the bed, I nodded to Kinsey. "Hamilton," I murmured as I passed him the phone. He nodded, and took it.

* * *

I took the room key and walked back down to the front desk to pay the final bill. The predawn chill elicited a shiver, but it wasn't as bad as it had been the night before. There was a younger man at the desk this morning; he accepted the keys and the final payment with barely a word; I guessed that he wasn't a morning person. By the time I got back to the car, Kinsey had put the cases back in the trunk, and was waiting for me.

We stopped to grab an ad hoc breakfast at a roadside convenience store. Kinsey had coffee, I had iced tea, and we each enjoyed a couple of piping hot bagels and an apple turnover. Back on the road again, the glow in the east heralded the coming sunrise. As we traced back down I-490 to I-90 again, I settled back in my seat to examine my current feelings regarding Kinsey.

It figured that I felt a certain physical attraction toward the burly sergeant. As Lisa had so helpfully pointed out, he was my 'type'; tall and muscular. I only had her word that he had a 'thing' for me, but then again, she didn't have a habit of lying to me.

On the other hand, she had never hesitated to manipulate me, if she considered it to be in my best interests. Of course, I also considered my love life to be not necessarily her business, so there was that, too.

I decided to leave that line of enquiry for later; what bothered me was what had nearly happened the night before. I'd been shaken by the firefight, as brief as it was. Adrenaline had poured through my system, and then it had been over; danger done. The antagonistic attitude of Detective Fowler had gotten under my skin; even after we had left Batavia behind, it had continued to rankle. I had queried myself, second-guessing the decisions made in the heat of the moment.

Seeking validation of my actions from Sergeant Kinsey had reassured me, but his reassurance had also made me feel closer to the man; that, in conjunction with Lisa's suggestion that I sleep with him … _hm. That's probably it._

It wasn't so much an epiphany as a slowly blossoming glow of realisation, of self-understanding. I knew now that it hadn't been sex that I had been craving (well, not _only_ sex), but the closeness, the intimacy. The _physical_ approval of a man whom I both liked and respected.

And who, if I was honest with myself, had a very impressive set of muscles.

But I wasn't sixteen any more; I had more control over my needs, my wants, my desires. I had worked alongside Kinsey for months, had trained with him in the gym. Even now, in the car, I didn't feel overwhelmed by his presence. My impulses were once more under control.

They had to be.

I had _work_ to do.

* * *

The last few hundred miles seemed to simply vanish under our wheels. Now that I had figured out what was going on (or rather, _not_ going on) between myself and Kinsey, I was just that little bit more at ease with the man. We conversed on many topics, from music to sports to reading tastes. There were many areas in which we diverged, of course, but it was interesting to see what things we had in common.

By unspoken mutual agreement, we did not speak of what had happened in Batavia. Not once, then or later, did I ever seriously wonder if I should not have simply stood there and let them rob me. That wasn't who I was; not any more. That hadn't been me for quite some time.

We also spoke of what we'd be doing once we reached Brockton Bay. I knew I'd be seeing a lot of Andrea, of course; the problem was that Kinsey's presence was likely to inhibit those activities which she intended to pursue with me. And while I knew that he was unlikely to report any such activities to Hamilton, nor did I want to strain his loyalties.

Were I to sleep in her apartment, while he slept elsewhere, I figured that he would be concerned; after all, his stated purpose for coming along with me was to provide a personal protection detail. Unfortunately, considering what other things I had planned to get done while I was in town, his 'protection' was the _last_ thing I wanted.

I'd have to be sneaky about this.

* * *

We rolled into Brockton Bay just after midday. It was a beautiful spring day; temperatures were in the mid-sixties, thanks to that geographical peculiarity which gave the city mild winters and warm summers. Overhead, a brilliant sun beat down out of an almost cloudless sky.

I directed Kinsey to drive up Lord Street; to our right, the Boardwalk gave way to the Bay itself. There was still no floating Protectorate base, still no real Protectorate presence in the city. That would come, in time, along with the PRT. Villainous activity in Brockton Bay was due to rise sharply in the next few years, alongside the drop in shipping activity, and the PRT and Protectorate would come in to provide a balance.

_Do I want it to be that way, or should I change it?_

It was a conundrum; if I worked to prevent the events that led to the creation of the Boat Graveyard, that led to the ferry being shut down, then I might change matters further down the line, change them in ways that I did not expect or want.

Just for instance, if the upswell in villainous activity in Brockton Bay did not happen, then the heroes might not come to the city to balance out the situation. Or they might, but not in such numbers; after all, Marquis, Allfather and Galvanate were already extant within the city. Max Anders would be a few years younger than me, if I recalled correctly; the chances were that he had already triggered. The Empire Eighty-Eight would start growing with the demise of Lord's Port, attracting more neo-Nazis, or simply just those people who liked to hurt others and didn't care about ideology, to their banner.

If that wasn't bad enough, the Merchants would also start adding to their numbers. Skidmark was probably only just starting out, if he'd even triggered yet. I decided to check with Lisa whether they were out-of-towners who came to the Bay with the influx, or homegrown villains. Whichever one, they definitely deserved to be removed from the history books.

The ABB, of course, would never arrive in Brockton Bay. I intended to make sure of _that._

* * *

"Down this way," I directed Kinsey. As we wended our way through Downtown, I noticed a new high-rise under construction. _That's odd._ It wasn't one that I recalled. I made a mental note to ask Lisa about it as well.

It was interesting to watch Brockton Bay in action, more than a decade before I would have become the de facto ruler of a great chunk of it. Before vicious villain gangs became a fact of life, before the city started to become more than a little worn around the edges. Before the PRT and the Protectorate had come to put their own stamp on the city. I had renewed my knowledge of it while I was going to school, and then college, but my time away had changed my perspective, altered the way I saw the world.

Brockton Bay had changed, but not all that much.

_I _had changed, quite a bit more.

Batavia had proven that.

* * *

Andrea opened the front door of her apartment at the third knock. She was dressed to go out, with a light coat over T-shirt and jeans. On seeing me, she dropped her handbag and quite literally leaped into my arms, wrapping her legs around my waist.

"Taylor!" she squealed, kissing me soundly.

I wrapped my arms around her and kissed her in return; not quite as thoroughly as she had just kissed me, but still firmly enough to show that I had missed her.

"Hi sweetie," I grinned. "It's good to see you, too."

"Missed you, missed you, missed you," she chanted, then kissed me again.

I returned this kiss as well, then the half-dozen or so that followed. Finally, I managed to make her hold off long enough to get her attention. "Andrea, this is Jim Kinsey. He's -"

"Oh, I remember you," Andrea told him over my shoulder. "You were the sergeant who came to pick up Taylor when she got drunk at the reception. I'm Andrea Campbell."

My head was half-turned toward Kinsey, and I saw his eyes open slightly at this. I had no idea what had been going through his mind when he saw Andrea greeting me in this fashion, but I knew that she'd just managed to impress him.

"That's right, ma'am," he replied. "Sergeant Kinsey, at your service." He held out his hand; without missing a beat, Andrea let go of me with one hand and shook hands with him under my left arm.

"You can put me down now, Taylor," she told me with a grin. "Come on in, and bring Sergeant Kinsey with you."

I held her while she unwrapped her legs from my torso, then set her on her feet. We followed her inside, and Kinsey shut the door.

"So what are you doing back in town so soon?" asked Andrea, leading the way to the living room. "And how come you aren't in uniform? You always show up in uniform."

"That's because we just drove in from Chicago," I explained. "Plus, I'm on leave. Four weeks."

Andrea's face lit up all over again. "Yay!" Then she frowned. "But … didn't you have a week off, for Gladys' wedding?"

I sighed, sitting down on the sofa; Andrea immediately sat beside me, as close as she could. Just for a moment, I recalled picking that sofa out at the store, debating with Andrea the pros and cons between it and half a dozen others. This room was full of memories of that type, and I knew it would be a wrench when I had to leave again.

"It's convalescent leave, sweetie," I explained.

Her eyes grew round. "What? Are you hurt? What happened?"

I shook my head wearily. "No, I had a bit of a mental break. I needed to get away, get my head back together. So my commanding officer gave me four weeks off."

Kinsey coughed discreetly; we both looked at him.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt, Ms Campbell, but which way is the bathroom?"

Andrea immediately pointed. "Down the hallway, second on the right."

He nodded politely. "Thank you, ma'am." We watched him stride off down the hallway.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Andrea turned to me and stage-whispered, _"Please_ tell me you're hitting that!"

I shook my head, restraining the impulse to roll my eyes. _Is __**everyone**__ going to get in on the act? _"I _can't,"_ I whispered back, stressing the second word as hard as I dared.

"What?" she blurted, frowning. "Is he gay or something?"

"No!" I shook my head again, keeping one eye on the hallway in case Kinsey returned. "Well, at least, I don't think so. It's just … it's complicated."

Andrea had no such qualms about rolling her eyes. "When it comes to you and sex, _everything's_ complicated."

"Whereas for you, it isn't," I replied dryly.

She grinned proudly. "Nope!"

I drew a deep breath. "Okay. Explanation as to why I'm not sleeping with Sergeant Kinsey. He's a sergeant, and I'm a captain -"

"You're a _captain?"_ she blurted. "When did _that_ happen?"

"A few days ago," I told her. "Look, this is important -"

"Did you bring your uniform? I wanna see you in your uniform." Leaning close to my ear, she whispered a suggestion regarding myself, my uniform and her, which had me blushing furiously.

"Wow," she remarked in some satisfaction, leaning back to observe my flushed face. "You really _haven't_ been getting any."

"Like I _told_ you," I growled. "Anyway, regulations say that I'm not allowed to fraternise within my chain of command, and nor is Sergeant Kinsey."

She made keep-going motions with her hands. "Which means … ?"

I heard the toilet flush. "We're not allowed to sleep together," I told her hurriedly.

She frowned. "Really? And what happens if you do?"

The washbasin tap came on. _Thank god he belongs to that minority of the human race that actually washes their hands afterward._ "All sorts of trouble. Lots and lots. Big black mark on the record."

"Oh, that's easy, then," Andrea told me lightly. "Just don't get caught."

"Or don't do it at all," I reminded her. "Which is what the rules actually _mean."_

She wrinkled her nose. "Meh. That's no fun."

"It's the way I'm playing it," I told her, just as the bathroom door opened, and Kinsey came back down the hallway.

"Anyone want drinks?" asked Andrea brightly. "I'll get drinks." She hopped up from the sofa and darted into the kitchen, while Kinsey lowered himself into an armchair.

"I roomed with her at college," I explained, half-apologetically. He nodded understandingly.

"Yes, she did!" called out Andrea from the kitchen. I winced; I had forgotten how the acoustics went in this apartment. "And boy, the stories I could tell you!"

I cringed, imagining some of the stories that Andrea could tell. _But then, _I reminded myself, _I once made a drunken pass at him in my underwear. I'm not sure if she can top that._

"I could tell you stories as well, ma'am," he called back unexpectedly. "Or rather, I could, if they weren't classified."

Andrea popped her head out of the kitchen, eyes round. "Classified? No shit?"

Kinsey nodded firmly. "As you say, ma'am, no shit."

"Holy crap, Taylor, you never said you were working with classified stuff. This makes you at least twenty percent cooler. Wow. Holy crap." She disappeared back into the kitchen, then reappeared, bearing a tray with drinks on it. "It's only fruit cordial, but it's sweet and it's cold," she apologised.

"Something being classified is a fairly good reason for not talking about it in the first place, Andrea," I told her with a grin. "And you didn't have to get us drinks, but thanks."

She stuck her tongue out at me, then leaned over to present Kinsey with his drink. She'd done something to the neckline of her t-shirt, so that it gaped open when she bent forward. His eyes were drawn irresistibly to the opening, and what lay within; I knew for a fact that she was not, at present, wearing a bra. So, I was fairly sure, did Kinsey – now.

With a self-satisfied look on her face, she sat back beside me on the sofa, dropping the tray on the cushion beside her. I sipped at the drink, trying to ignore her antics. It was actually rather nice. As was having Andrea cuddled up to me; after a few moments, I put my arm around her, and she snuggled into me, just like old times.

"So you're here for four whole weeks?" she asked.

I nodded. "Less travel time. We'll be heading off on the morning of Saturday the twenty-third."

She wrinkled her nose. "Driving. Stupid cars. If you flew, you could have been here day before yesterday. And stay another day and a half."

"Says the girl who's perfectly suited for airline seats," I pointed out. "When _I_ fly, my knees end up around my ears. And as for Sergeant Kinsey … "

"Say no more," Andrea replied with a grin. "When he flexes, they have to sell him another seat."

Kinsey smothered a cough, which I was fairly certain was there to cover a laugh. As it was, I hid a smile behind my cup; her comment wasn't all that far off the mark.

The conversation went on; Kinsey proved capable of holding up his end, and I soon had need to visit the facilities myself. When I returned, the banter was flying thick and fast, Andrea flirting outrageously with Kinsey. She was having a ball, eyes bright and grinning broadly. He seemed to be enjoying himself as well, but he wasn't responding to her signals in any direct way.

As I sat back down, Andrea snuggled under my arm again, and looked up at me. "So, where you staying while you're in town?" she asked cheerfully. "Stinky old motel room, or a bed with nice fresh sheets … like, say, right here?"

I glanced at Kinsey. He looked blandly back at me. "Motel rooms _do_ have a certain lack of charm about them," he commented.

I frowned. "Well, do you still have the bed in the spare room?"

"Sure," she responded at once. "But only one, and it's a single." Snuggling in even more tightly to my side, she added, giving me her most adorably big-eyed puppy-dog look, "You could share _my_ bed if you really wanted … "

I wanted. I did actually want that. But I was torn. _Do I want Kinsey knowing without a doubt that I will be sleeping with Andrea?_

Kinsey cleared his throat. "If you wish, ma'am, I could get a motel room for myself, while you take the spare room … "

_While you sleep with your girlfriend in private,_ he meant. At that moment, I could have kissed him.

I shook my head definitively. "No, Sergeant. If I'm not sleeping in a motel, you're not sleeping in a motel."

"_Thank_ you, ma'am," he replied, with a certain amount of gratitude.

"If the spare room turns out to not be to your taste," I went on, "I have other friends around town. I'm sure that the Heberts would be happy to put you up if necessary."

Andrea nodded. "Yeah, Danny's moved into college accommodations."

That figured. _To be closer to Anne-Rose, no doubt_.

"We'll see, ma'am," he observed blandly. "I once slept soundly through a category four hurricane in the Bahamas; I'm sure that your spare room will bear no terrors for me." In short, he was telling me that no matter what he heard, he would hear nothing.

I cleared my throat. "So anyway. When we got here, you looked like you were just going out, Andrea. Maybe we should let you get on your way."

She glanced at her watch. "Won't matter. Next bus isn't due for another half hour."

"We have a car," I told her. "We can give you a lift."

"Sure!" she agreed enthusiastically. "But only if you agree to stay here."

I glanced at Kinsey; he did not seem to be against the idea. Nor was I, for that matter. "Okay, we'll see how it goes."

"Yay!" She kissed me again, leaped up, and bustled back into the kitchen with the tray and empty cups. I was left staring bemusedly at Kinsey.

"Sorry about that," I told him, in a much lower tone of voice than before. "She's only got one speed; flat out. Maybe I should have warned you."

He cracked a faint smile as he got up. "That's fine, ma'am. This is not going to be a _boring_ stay, I can see that now."

I rolled my eyes. "Any number of other words, yes. Boring, no." He offered me his hand; I accepted, and he assisted me to my feet.

Andrea came out of the kitchen again. "Where'd I leave my coat and handbag?"

"There and there," I told her, pointing.

She snatched them up. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

"Us, apparently," I commented dryly. "Come on, Kinsey."

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed, equally dryly.

* * *

We had parked a little way down the block, and Kinsey walked ahead to the car. Andrea and I strolled sedately along behind.

"Well," she observed brightly, "he's not gay."

"I _told_ you he wasn't," I pointed out.

"You _thought_ he wasn't," she corrected me. "The way he looked down my top, he's not gay. But he didn't come on to me at all when you were out of the room, and I was doing everything but give him a lap dance."

I waited for her to continue. "Which means … ?" I prompted.

"Which means that he's waiting for _you _to give the signal," she told me, rolling her eyes. "Which I'm _still_ not entirely certain as to why you haven't."

"I _did,"_ I told her, lowering my voice as we got up toward the car. "But he turned me down."

She stared at me. "Fuckin' _what?"_

I shook my head tightly. "I'll tell you about it later." To forestall further argument, I opened the back door of the car, and let her get in. I was about to close it, but she grabbed my wrist and dragged me in as well. Not that I tried too hard to oppose her.

"Very well, ladies," announced Kinsey from the front seat, "where would you like me to drive you to?"

Andrea giggled. "Onward, James," she ordered grandly.

He started the car; I snorted. Andrea looked at me questioningly. "His name really _is_ James," I reminded her; she giggled again.

She gave Kinsey directions that seemed to lead us back into the Downtown area. I spotted the same strange high-rise that I had seen before. I got quite a good look at it, as Andrea's directions didn't seem to have a fixed destination; the more I looked at it, the more I was certain that I did not recall it from the Brockton Bay of my day. _Perhaps it was knocked down for something newer?_

"Uh, Andrea," I ventured, after our fifth pass through the city, "are you looking for something, or are we just driving around?"

"Little bit of column A, little bit of column B," she informed me airily. "Hey, what time is it?"

I checked my watch; she couldn't, as her left arm was around my waist. "Getting close to three," I told her.

She grinned broadly. "I got a _great_ idea."

* * *

Kinsey braked the car to a halt outside Winslow High School. "What, exactly, are we doing here again?" he asked. It was just after three; children were boiling out through the doors and down the steps.

"To see Mrs Gladys Knott," I informed him cheerfully. "One of the teachers. In fact, it was her wedding reception I was attending, when we were here last."

He raised an eyebrow. "May I enquire as to why?"

I smiled. "We went to school here together. She's one of my best friends."

"'S'true," Andrea confirmed. "Taylor's known her even longer than she's known me."

"You might want to stay by the car, Kinsey," I instructed him. "One of these little brats might steal it, if you're not careful."

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am," he responded firmly. Andrea and I got out of the car; Kinsey got out as well, and took up a position next to the driver's side door. I hoped for the childrens' sake that they wouldn't try to steal the car; I was _fairly_ sure that he wouldn't shoot anyone who tried, but I wasn't _totally_ sure.

Most of the kids were gone by the time we reached the front steps of the school. Andrea nudged me as we started up them. "So spill!" she urged. "What happened? How did you manage to get _him_ to turn you down?"

I sighed. "Remember, the last time I was here? I got drunk?"

She nodded. "Drunk? You were fuckin' _plastered."_

"Don't remind me. Well, Kinsey got me back to the motel room, and got my uniform off me, because it had spots on it, and I kind of made a pass at him. In my underwear."

She laughed out loud. "And he turned you down?"

"It's what Lisa told me, anyway."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, no _wonder!_ He's got all sorts of rules going on with him! He turned you down 'cause you were _drunk, _not 'cause he didn't want you."

I gave her a suspicious sideways glance. "Are you and Lisa reading each others' mail? Because she said more or less the same thing."

"Oh, wow!" she exclaimed. "How is Lisa, anyway? Tell her hi from me!" Grabbing me, she pulled my head down to her level and pretended to call directly into my ear, "Is she treating you all right in there?"

I rolled my eyes. Lisa and Andrea had always gotten along, even though they could never converse directly, except when I was in a trance. "Get _off,"_ I told her without heat. "Or I'll put you over my knee and spank you."

"Promises, promises," she giggled.

A smile crept over my face, even as I shook my head. It was as Kinsey had said; staying with Andrea was never going to be boring. I had grown unused to her presence; four weeks in Brockton Bay was going to bring back a lot of reminders. And make it a lot harder to leave.

"Ah, this should be the classroom," I told her, and knocked on the door.

A moment later, it opened. Gladys stood there, looking so much like the Mrs Knott I had known in my time that a lump rose in my throat. "Taylor!" she exclaimed; like Andrea, she hugged me. Unlike Andrea, she did not leap into my arms, or kiss me.

I returned the hug, even as my vertebrae creaked. "Are you still exercising," I grunted, "or do you just bench-press Franklin every morning?"

"Yes," she grinned, and I blushed as the accidental double-entendre caught up with me. Andrea, delighted, laughed out loud again.

I sighed. "It's good to see you too, Gladys," I told her. "But this isn't just a social visit. I need something from you."

"Come in, then," Gladys invited. We trooped into the room, and Andrea shut the door. Then they both turned attentively toward me.

"You know how, once upon a time, you told me that I only had to ask and you'd help me out?" My gaze was on Gladys, my voice low but steady.

Gladys nodded. "I remember. Are you asking?"

I took a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm asking."

She looked me in the eye. "What do you need?"

I glanced from her to Andrea and back again. "I need you to help me kill someone."

* * *

End of Part 4-1


	21. Chapter 21

/o\

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 4-2: You Can't Go Home Again

* * *

Gladys stared at me. "Did I hear you correctly? Did you just ask me to … "

"Help me kill someone, yes." I kept my voice low and steady, my eyes fixed on hers. "Gladys, you're the best damn shot I know. I could _maybe_ do this on my own, but I'd far rather you were along."

"But … _kill_ someone? Commit _murder?"_ Gladys' voice was plaintive. "You're my best friend, Taylor, but that's kind of wrong. Also, illegal."

I noted with passing amusement the order in which she'd said that. "Not as wrong as what this guy will be doing if we don't punch his card, first chance we get."

"Uh, the men I've got -" ventured Andrea.

" - have _less_ chance of pulling it off than I do on my own," I informed her. "Sorry; I know the dangers, and I'd far rather have someone along who'll do what I say and not second-guess me."

Gladys gave Andrea a bemused look. "Men?"

"Long story." I looked at her. "Can you help me, Gladys? _Will_ you help me?"

She hesitated. "I -"

And then the door opened.

We all turned to look at the newcomer. It took me a couple of seconds to recognise Principal Paul Woodbine; he was a few years older, a few years greyer.

"Gladys, I -" he began in his turn, then paused as he saw Andrea and myself. " - I didn't realise that you had visitors."

"We just got here," I explained. "It's good to see you again, sir."

He blinked a few times. "Taylor? Taylor _Snow?_ Good grief, it _is_ you."

I grinned as I shook his hand. His grip was firm, but I'd dealt with stronger. "That's me, sir. You're looking well."

"And you too, young Snow," he told me, looking me over approvingly. "You're all grown up now, and I hear that you're making a name for yourself in the PRT."

I shrugged slightly, unsure of what he may have heard about my exploits, but fairly sure that Behemoth was not one of them. "I do what I can, sir."

"She's a captain now!" burst out Andrea; I could hear the pride in her voice.

His eyebrows rose concurrently. "Well, now. Captain at …" His eyes went unfocused for a moment as he calculated, " … twenty-one? I'm _very_ impressed."

"No, sir." I shook my head. "Twenty-two. And there are special circumstances involved. _Classified_ ones," I added hastily, before he could ask.

He got the message. "Ah," he agreed, nodding slightly. "Still very impressed, Captain Snow. Very impressed indeed. I only ever made it to first looey, myself." Turning to Andrea, who was still holding on to my arm, he gave her a bemused glance. "And I don't believe that I've met this delightful young lady."

"This is my friend Andrea Campbell, sir," I informed him. "She was my roommate in college."

"Indeed?" Woodbine took Andrea's hand and shook it carefully. "Any relation to Joe Campbell? Was a sergeant in the Marines, runs the JROTC course here."

Andrea frowned. "Huh. No idea. Could be – I've got lots of cousins – but I'd have to ask around."

"I'll see if he knows you, the next time I see him," he replied, then turned to me again. "He _said_ you were doing well at Boot; first looey straight out of the gate, hmm? I'll have to tell him you made captain; it'll make his day."

"If you want, sir," I agreed. I really didn't want to have too big a noise made about my exploits and career while I was back in Brockton Bay; the less said and the less heard about me, the better.

_Captain Snow had a quiet four-week leave in her home town then returned to duty. No incidents of note._

That was how I'd have _liked_ the report on my leave to read. However, I couldn't protest too much, or he might start wondering.

"So what brings you back to Brockton Bay anyway, Captain Snow?" he asked curiously. "And for that matter, to Winslow?"

"Oh, uh, I've got four weeks of leave, sir," I told him. "A medical issue. And to be honest, I just got into town a few hours ago, and I wanted to catch Gladys before she went home for the day. I wanted to ask her if she wanted to come on a camping trip with Andrea and me, this weekend coming up. We'd deliver her back here safe and sound, Monday morning."

* * *

_Gladys blinked as they all looked at her again. Taylor's request had hit her out of the blue, and she had actually been looking for an excuse to say no when Woodbine had shown up. She had been left out of the following conversation, giving her a chance to think about what she was being asked to do._

_This was __**Taylor**__, she reminded herself. Taylor, who had stood by her through thick and thin, who had gotten in trouble for her sake. Taylor, with whom she had gone through JROTC and ROTC both, who had encouraged her to find her own strengths, to push past her limits. Taylor, who had nursed the budding relationship with Franklin, to whom she was so happily married now. And perhaps most importantly, this was Taylor who had travelled back in time, to fix the mistakes of the past. She was __**changing**__ things, and Gladys had to have faith that she was changing things for the better._

_**And if Taylor needs my help now ...**_

_"I - I'd like to do that with you, yes," she responded._

_Woodbine frowned. "I believe that you have a big test scheduled on Friday. You told me specifically that you would be most likely marking over the weekend."_

_**Oh crap. I forgot about that.**__ "Uh -"_

"_We can take the papers with us," Taylor suggested quickly. "I'm good with computers; I can help her mark them."_

_Gladys glanced toward Mr Woodbine. "Can we do it that way, sir?"_

_He frowned. "It __**is**__ somewhat irregular, Gladys," he replied, a tone of mild disapproval creeping into his voice. "I understand that Captain Snow is your friend and all, but ... "_

_Gladys had a brainwave. "Careers Day!" she blurted._

_"I beg your pardon?" asked Woodbine, frowning._

_"Next Monday is Careers Day, right?" Gladys knew she was babbling, but she rushed on. "If Taylor showed up in uniform on Monday and talked to them, would that make it okay?"_

_Woodbine's eyebrows went up again. "Well. If Captain Snow is willing to put in the time and effort to speak to our students about a career in the PRT, then I don't see why __**not**__ ..."_

_Gladys knew Taylor better than Woodbine, and at least as well as Andrea did. She saw the dismay, quickly hidden, followed by the calculation. Over the span of a fraction of a second, she __**watched **__Taylor come to the decision that yes, attending Careers Day at her old high school was worth having Gladys come along to help her kill someone._

_**She must want this person dead really, really badly.**_

_"Yes, sir," Taylor replied with a crisp nod. "I can do that." A brief smile. "I'll just have to make sure that my orderly thought to pack my dress uniform."_

_Woodbine smiled broadly. "Excellent. I'll have Gladys fill you in with the details."_

"_I can do that, Mr Woodbine," Gladys assured him. "And thank you."_

"_It'll give us the chance to show off one of our success stories," Woodbine noted. "Thank __**you**__, Captain Snow, for this opportunity." He turned toward the door, about to leave._

"_Oh, uh, was there something you wanted when you came in here?" Gladys asked._

_Woodbine stopped. "Ah, yes, of course. I came to ask you … what was it?" He paused for a moment. "Oh, yes, of course." A rueful smile crossed his face. "I was going to ask you if you would be free to sit in on one of the stands on Careers Day. But as Captain Snow has generously volunteered to help out … "_

"_If you still need a hand on the day, of course I can," she agreed._

"_Excellent," he replied. "Well, I'll let you ladies get caught up." He exited the room, closing the door behind him._

_Taylor waited a few beats, to make sure he was gone. "You're certain?" she asked in a low tone._

_Gladys nodded. "I promised, didn't I?"_

_Taylor did not answer, at least in words. She just hugged Gladys again._

-ooo-

Andrea and I exited the school, taking our time walking down the steps. In the distance, I could see Kinsey, still at his post beside the car. We were alone, but Andrea glanced around anyway before speaking.

"So who are you and Gladys going to kill?"

I raised an eyebrow; she seemed so matter-of-fact about it. When I stopped to look at her, she paused a couple of steps higher, so that we were looking eye to eye.

"You're taking this in your stride," I observed. "To be honest, I expected you to be a little bit more surprised, or upset, or something."

She lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "I've had a lot of time to come to terms with the fact that the woman I love is a very deep person, and that I shouldn't be surprised by anything you choose to do. You told me once that you're ready to lie, cheat, steal or kill in order to fix things, so … yeah. What can I do to help?"

Despite her bold words, I could see in her eyes that she wasn't quite as self-assured as she made out, but that she was doing her best to pretend to be so … for my sake?

Reaching out, I took her hands in mine. "I won't ask you to do anything you aren't prepared to do. But I will need you to make certain preparations for me. And the stuff I asked you for; do you have it?"

She squeezed my hands and gave me a wide and genuine smile. "Sure I do. And let me tell you, the guy was mightily surprised when I contacted him. And even more so after I set him up in his own workshop."

"Good," I told her. "Excellent. I'm going to need other things from him, in the next few years. Make sure that his retainer is generous enough that he doesn't even consider leaving."

"Oh, that was the easiest bit," Andrea assured me, as we continued down the steps, hand in hand. "I ramped up his salary till his eyes bulged, then doubled it. He'll stick around."

"Well, I hope you haven't bankrupted us in the process," I replied jokingly.

She snorted. "Hardly. With what we're worth these days, I'm effectively paying him out of petty cash."

"Just don't let _him_ know that," I warned her. "Or he might get greedy."

She grinned. "Trust me, he knows which side his bread's buttered. Those people you say he was going to work for, the Uppermost? They couldn't afford to pay him anywhere near what we are."

"Good, good," I replied with a nod. "And the rifle?"

"Delivered and in good condition, or so the man who unpacked it tells me," she responded cheerfully. "He's asked me if he can pretty please fire it. I've told him no, so far."

We were getting close to the car; I lowered my voice. "Let him zero the scope, but that's it," I told her.

"Okay," she agreed. "Uh, who - ?"

I indicated Kinsey with my eyes. "Later," I murmured, then raised my voice. "Sergeant Kinsey, are you hungry?"

"Not yet, ma'am, but I will be shortly," he told me. Which I easily translated as _Yes, but I can hold off if I have to._

"Good," I replied. "Let's get something to go on with, and then we'll be doing some more visiting."

-ooo-

We ate fish and chips on the Boardwalk, looking out at the ocean. Andrea took the middle space on the seat; not so much to claim me as hers, as I initially surmised, but just so that she would be between us.

"So," she asked Kinsey cheerfully, "has she told you how we met?"

"Oh god," I groaned, putting my hand over my eyes. "Not that one, please."

"I had not heard this one," Kinsey told her politely, "but if the Captain wishes it not to be told, then perhaps we should refrain."

Andrea rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out in my direction. "You're no fun."

"Well, excuse me if I want to have _some_ dignity at the end of the day," I riposted.

"Dignity? Where's the fun in that?" she wanted to know.

I considered that. Andrea had once talked me into playing nude Twister; dignity was definitely not high on her to-do list. "Just not … today, okay?" I asked.

She tilted her head. "Okay. So. More important stuff. Your promotion is classified, huh? Am I allowed to ask what happened?"

"I can't stop you from asking, but I'm not allowed to actually answer," I explained.

"Sure, okay," she agreed. "So, you got made a captain, and you had some sort of mental break, and that thing in New York with Behemoth all happened in the last few days. I'm thinking they're all connected. If you shake your head I'll know I'm wrong."

Kinsey's eyes opened a few notches wider than normal; for him, this was an expression of pure astonishment. So far, all he had seen was the flighty, flirty girl that most everyone saw when they met her. She had a brain in her head, and she was able to use it, when and if she chose. She hadn't, after all, squandered our war chest, but was actually investing it the way I was advising her to.

I very carefully did not shake my head.

"Okay, cool," she noted, as if I had actually said something. Picking up a handful of fries, she stuffed them into her mouth like a child, and chewed blissfully. Over the top of her head, I met Kinsey's gaze. He glanced down at her; I read his meaning as _Is she going to be a problem?_

Fractionally, I shook my head. _No. I'll deal with it._

In return, he nodded, just as fractionally. _As you say._

I cleared my throat. "Talking about that sort of thing to the wrong people could get you in a lot of trouble. Just so you know."

She nodded, setting her red curls to dancing. "I know," she vocalised indistinctly, around the mouthful of fried potato. Pausing, she swallowed the bulk of it. "I know. Not gonna say anything. Just wanted to know."

I sighed. "I wasn't _in_ New York, but I was … involved, yes," I admitted. "So were a great many other PRT people, as well as police, firefighters, National Guard, and so on."

"Ahhh," she replied wisely, as if I had just told her something important. "I get it."

I resisted the urge to ask _get what?_ and ruffled her hair; she giggled. "Well, whatever it is that you get, you're going to have to hold on to it for a while. Finished? We've got friends to visit."

Kinsey offered me the last piece of fish; I declined, so he ate it. Andrea stuffed her mouth with fries again, and bounced up to take the remains of our meal to the nearest garbage can. While she was doing this, Kinsey took the opportunity to lean in toward me.

"Ma'am," he murmured, "it strikes me that your friend is brighter than she seems."

"Oh, I know," I replied, just as softly. "I've known for years. Don't ever assume she doesn't know something, just because you didn't tell her."

"But why does she put on the bimbo act?" he asked, his eyebrows drawing together; mild frustration, I guessed. I got the impression that he'd wanted to add 'brainless' in there, but had left it out due to tact.

I grinned. "I don't think it's an act."

I very rarely managed to surprise Kinsey; the look on his face, wiped away again as Andrea came back to join us, was _priceless_.

-ooo-

"This should be it."

Andrea stopped in front of a door and rapped on it; when there was no answer, she tried the handle. It opened; for a moment, I shared with her a view of three guys and two girls, no clothes in sight, involved in … _oh my god._ Shouts and squeals erupted; I reached out and pulled the door shut abruptly, blushing to my eyebrows.

"I don't think that's Danny's room," I managed, in a choked tone of voice.

"I didn't _see_ him in there," Andrea agreed. "We must be on the wrong floor. Just a second."

She opened the door again, and stuck her head inside. "Hey, anyone here know which floor Danny Hebert's on?"

I shared a horrified glance with Kinsey, then reached out to pull her out again. But just as I did so, a male voice, somewhat muffled, called out, "Try the fourth!"

"Thank you!" she replied cheerfully, pulled her head out, and shut the door. She beamed at us. "See? Easy as pie."

I tried to pick my jaw up off the floor. "Andrea, seriously. Do you have no sense of shame?"

She gave me a _well, duh_ look. "Nope. But I thought you already knew that."

Kinsey's was the face of a man for whom new vistas of enlightenment were opening all the time. He didn't look as though he was ready for it.

For my part, I just shook my head. "Yeah, I knew. Or thought I did. Wow."

She giggled and took my hand. "Silly Taylor. Or did you think I acted like that just around _you?"_

I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Apparently not."

"Though I don't know why – ah." Andrea bent and picked up the tie, which had apparently slipped off of the door handle. Carefully, she replaced it. "Saves all sorts of problems."

I could only shake my head.

-ooo-

Up on the fourth floor, we located the right room, and tapped on the door. Moments later, it opened.

"Oh, hey," Danny greeted us. "Taylor, wow, you're back in town already?"

He was still tall, still gangly, though more filled out than when I had first met him, years ago. "Come on in," he invited us; I went first, followed by Andrea, and then Kinsey last of all. Danny's eyes widened behind his glasses as he took in the sergeant's bulk. "Uh, who -?"

"Danny Hebert, meet Sergeant Kinsey," I introduced them. "Sergeant, this is Danny. He's the one who saved my life, back in 'eighty-nine."

"Very pleased to meet you, Mr Hebert," Kinsey greeted him, offering his hand. Danny shook it, his relatively skinny hand swallowed up by Kinsey's huge paw.

"Uh, likewise, uh, Sergeant," Danny returned, apparently relieved to get his hand back uncrushed.

Kinsey nodded slightly. "Call me Jim."

Danny waved us to chairs, of which there were two, and the bed, on which Andrea and I sat. Once the seating arrangements were sorted out, Danny looked at us all. "So what brings you back to the Bay so soon, Taylor?"

"Resting, relaxation," I told him. "Medical leave. Four weeks."

He looked alarmed. "You're hurt?"

"Not physically, no," I told him. "I … kind of overworked myself, so my boss gave me some time off."

"Hm," Danny noted. "You always were the intense type. Not overly surprised, but really, you should learn to pace yourself."

Kinsey snorted; Danny glanced at him. "Easier said than done with the Captain," Kinsey told him.

"Wait, you're a captain now?" Danny blinked. "Wow. Does Gladys know? She'd be thrilled."

I nodded. "We went to see her first."

"And Mom and Dad? Have you seen them yet?"

"Not yet," I told him. "I want to make sure both of them are home. Because I'm going to introduce Andrea to them."

His eyes grew very wide, as did Andrea's. She didn't speak, but she didn't have to. "Are you sure that's wise?" he choked. "You _know_ how Mom feels -"

"And _my_ feelings in the matter don't count?" I snapped. "I love Dot; she was kind enough to take me in, to act as my legal guardian. But I also love Andrea, and Dot's going to have to make a choice; to accept my life, and my friends, as what they are, or to reject me along with Andrea."

Andrea's hand found mine and squeezed it. "You don't have to do this -" she began.

"I know I don't," I told her, squeezing back. "But I'm not going to let her dictate to me who she considers acceptable friends to bring over. You're an important part of my life, and she needs to know that."

Danny cleared his throat. "I have an idea," he offered.

-ooo-

The hire car was full now; Kinsey drove, with me in the front passenger seat. In the back seat, Andrea sat between Danny and Anne-Rose, if only because she was the shortest, and thus would obscure the rear-vision mirror the least. Fortunately, she had chosen to restrain herself from flirting too obviously with Anne-Rose, who only had eyes for Danny anyway.

Following my directions, Kinsey pulled the car up in front of the Hebert residence; one by one, we decanted ourselves from the vehicle.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" asked Anne-Rose. She had been filled in on Danny's plan, but was dubious about how well it would work.

"Mom's a lot less likely to be rude with guests in the house," Danny pointed out. "And if we all show that we accept Andrea … "

Andrea wrinkled her nose at him. "Accept, hah. When we first met, you couldn't take your eyes off of me."

He grinned at her. "Yeah, well, since then, I've gained a more refined taste."

She clenched her fists and pretended to advance on him; miming fear, he ducked behind me.

I sighed. "Children. Enough. We're all adults here; can we at least act like it?"

Danny nodded. "Okay, let's do this." Taking Anne-Rose's hand, he started up the path. I followed, with Andrea; Kinsey brought up the rear.

-ooo-

_Relaxing with the paper, George Hebert heard the doorbell go. "Dottie?" he called out._

"_I'm busy, dear," she called back from the kitchen. "Can you get that?"_

_Not without a grumble – he had just gotten comfortable – George laid the paper aside and heaved himself out of his chair. He stumped out of the living room and into the front hall, then opened the door._

"_Danny," he grunted in surprise. "What brings you here?"_

_His son grinned as he stepped inside, along with Anne-Rose. "Taylor's back, Dad."_

_Since Danny had settled down with Anne-Rose, George had gotten to know her a little. She didn't kowtow to the boy, and she knew what she wanted. He understood that she'd had a couple of flaming rows with her own parents over her life choice, but she'd stood by her guns, and had gotten her way. __**Good for her.**__ So he granted her a nod as she entered as well._

_Taylor was next; George would have liked to have seen her with Danny, but the girl was too independent-minded for that; not to mention not interested in boys, if he was understanding things right. She'd gone to join the PRT, which still didn't sit quite right with George – women should not be in the line of fire – but by all accounts she was making a good showing of it. He had to respect that. "Taylor," he grunted, as she entered; she offered him a smile and a brief handshake._

_Following Taylor was a girl he had met only a few times, but he knew who she was. Taylor's … woman friend. Andrea someone. His shaggy eyebrows rose as he contemplated how this was going to turn out. "Miss," he greeted her gruffly; she offered him a bright smile as she entered. __**At least she's dressed reasonably decently, this time.**_

_Last was a man George did not know; a few decades younger than him, the man was unmistakeably military, and at least as bulky as George himself._

"_Sergeant James Kinsey, sir," the man introduced himself, holding his hand out. "You'd be George Hebert?"_

_George shook it, feeling the power in the man's grip, and doing his best to give just as good back. "I am," he allowed. "You're with Taylor?"_

"_Her orderly," Kinsey explained. "And her driver."_

"_Hm," grunted George. "You'd better come in, then." He raised his voice, then. "Dottie! Visitors!"_

* * *

I watched Dorothy Hebert bustle out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. As I had told Danny, she had taken me in, even stood up to George when he argued against it. In truth, she had gone that extra mile for me, and I owed her more than I could ever repay.

But her sentiments, when I met Andrea, had driven a rift between us. Her views about homosexuality were as obdurate as they were unreasonable; I did not consider myself gay, but my intimate association with Andrea had branded me as that in her eyes.

I still didn't know _how_ she had learned about us, and I hadn't asked; I suspected that perhaps Danny had inadvertently let something slip, or perhaps one of Dot's other circle of friends had passed the word along, maliciously or otherwise. In any case, I wasn't going to deny the connection between us, even though we were officially broken up.

"Oh, Taylor, you're back," she greeted me. "So soon?"

"I'm on leave," I told her, and stepped forward to hug her. The progression of years on her was almost imperceptible, but she was that little bit more slender, more birdlike, than when I had first met her.

"How long are you back for?" she asked next. "And oh, where are my manners? I don't believe I've met your friends."

Kinsey stepped forward and took her hand briefly. "James Kinsey, ma'am," he greeted her formally. "Parahuman Response Teams."

"Oh, so you work with Taylor, do you?" She smiled charmingly; I saw her eyes dart from Kinsey to me and back. _Hope springs eternal, _I thought wryly.

He smiled back, just a little. "In a way, ma'am. She's my commanding officer."

"Oh." She blinked, apparently taken aback by his bluntness, and perhaps by the fact that I was a 'commanding officer' to anything, or anyone. "And who is this young lady?"

Quite deliberately, I took hold of Andrea's hand. "This is Andrea. Andrea Campbell, meet Dorothy Hebert."

Dot took in Andrea, how close she was standing to me, and then the name sank in. "This is ... Andrea?" she asked faintly. "The, uh ..."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'girlfriend', Mom," Danny put in helpfully, before Anne-Rose could elbow him in the ribs.

"What is this?" Dot asked, her voice gaining strength. "Taylor, this is too much. How can you -"

"How can I do what, Dot?" I asked her. "How can I bring Andrea to meet you? Or how can I stand to let you look down on her because of the way she lives her life?"

Dorothy shook her head. "No. This is nothing that I have done wrong." She pointed at Andrea. "She is the one who breaks the law of God. She is the sinner here. I have accepted you back into my home, into my heart, because you came to me, made an appeal, told me that you had changed your ways."

Andrea lifted her chin. "You know, she never had ways to change, Mrs H. She never was gay."

Dot stared at her. "She lived with you. She slept with you. She _sinned_ with you. Don't lie to me."

Andrea rolled her eyes. "Wow, sleep with _one_ girl and you're a freakin' stone-cold lesbian. Seriously. Once you've done that, it's all done. Never go back, never accept the love of a good man, right? Pshh, yeah, right."

"Enough." Dot glared at Andrea. "You come into my house under false pretences, and now you're rude to my face. George, I want these people to leave."

Before George could speak, Kinsey cleared his throat, and the room quieted. "Captain Snow had not finished speaking, sir." His voice did not hold any particular menace, but no-one contradicted him.

"Dot," I began, trying to salvage this, "if I had slept with a boy, at college, would you have acted the way you are now? Would you have barred him from the house?"

"I would have prayed for your soul, child," she replied stiffly, "and for his, but no, I would not have barred either one of you from the house. For that is a natural act, albeit sinful in its own right. But that_other_, which you practised with this girl – that is abominated by the Good Book."

Anne-Rose raised her hand; up until now, she had stood silent. "Uh, Dorothy – Dot – can I just say something?"

Dot looked over at her, and nodded once, sharply. "What is it?"

Taking a deep breath, Anne-Rose continued. "I'm, uh, sleeping with Danny."

Dot breathed in sharply through her nose; George's frown lines deepened slightly.

"Danny, is this true?" demanded Dot.

Danny looked like he wanted to sink through the floor, but he nodded. "Yes, ma'am." He raised his head and looked her in the eye. "I love her, and I'm going to marry her."

"Well, whether or not that's true, why bring this up now?" Dorothy snapped.

"Because before I met Danny, I was sleeping with Andrea," Anne-Rose explained simply. "Am _I_ a sinner, to be cast out? I didn't change my ways; I liked Andrea, but I love Danny. It's that simple. And we're going to be married. He's asked, and I've said yes. Does _that_ sound like your idea of a lesbian?"

Dorothy flinched at the word, but rallied. "I will pray for your soul, but give thanks also that you have seen the light," she declared. "You may not have seen it yourself, but -"

"But nothing," interrupted Andrea. "You can't even see it now? People are gonna do what people are gonna do. I'm gay; I like guys a little bit, but I like girls a whole lot. Anne-Rose's the other way around; she's mainly guy-oriented. Now Taylor here -" she turned and framed me with her arms, as if exhibiting me to the world, "she's the straightest girlfriend I ever had. Was when I met her, still is. In fact -"

"Okay, okay," I interrupted her in turn. "Andrea, Anne-Rose, Danny, thanks for your support, but enough, okay? Dot. Andrea's my friend. We've been through a lot together. I'm grateful for all you've done for me, but I need to know, if I come to visit, is Andrea welcome to visit as well? Because if she is, great, and I promise not to make out on the sofa in front of you. But if she isn't … then I'm going to say goodbye here too. Because if you can't accept her for what she is, then you're less of a Christian than she is, because she accepts people for being a lot worse than that."

I paused and looked her in the eyes. "You took me in. You were like a mother to me. But this time … I'm sorry, but you're _wrong."_

I took Andrea's hand and turned; Kinsey stood aside for me, as did George. The sergeant fell into step behind us; Andrea guided me toward the door, which was a good thing, because my eyes were suddenly full of tears, and I couldn't see a thing.

-ooo-

Anne-Rose got into the back of the car and comforted me as I cried on Andrea's shoulder. Danny was in front with Kinsey; the sergeant drove the car back to the College.

When we got there, I got out of the car along with Anne-Rose and Danny. "Are you two going to be okay?"

He gave me a crooked smile. "Well, I'm fairly sure Dad knew it already," he observed, "so all I'll really get is a few more lectures at home, along with regular invitations to church gatherings."

I hugged him; his arms went around me to hold me tightly. "Thanks for your support, back there," I told him. Then I turned to Anne-Rose. "And I can't _believe_ you said that, to her face."

"Oh god, nor can I," she agreed. "It just … came out, you know? But I think it needed to be said."

I sniffled. "Well, I hope that you don't get in too much trouble."

She hugged me. "You've already shown me that I don't have to follow every single last stricture of my parents. I'll be fine."

She was _so like_ my mother that my eyes misted over, all over again. I held her tightly, for nowhere near long enough. "Good luck, you two," I told them, as I got back into the car. "I'll see you around."

"Take care," Danny told me, and then I shut the door.

"Where to, ma'am?" asked Kinsey quietly.

Leaning back against the car seat, I closed my eyes. "Andrea's place. Please."

-ooo-

I was silent and listless when we got in through Andrea's front door; Andrea and Kinsey conferred over what to cook for dinner that night, while I sat on the sofa. The TV was on, but I wasn't registering anything. All I could see was the betrayal and hurt on Dot's face; all I could hear were the hurtful words, the words that she believed implicitly.

I had not realised until now how much Dot and George meant to me, how much emotional support that I had derived from their very presence, even while I was out of Brockton Bay. Normally, I would have been able to weather this much more easily, but following Behemoth … belatedly, I realised that Hamilton had been correct. I _did_ need to get away, to get my head together.

Numbly, I became aware of a large glass being pushed into my hands. I drank automatically, only to encounter the bite of hard liquor; bourbon, I thought, but I wasn't sure.

"I don't want this," I told Andrea, trying to give her the glass back.

"Jim says you do," she insisted. "Drink it. Please."

At her urging, I drank the glass, bit by bit. By the end of it, I wouldn't say that my head was more clear, but a lot of the confusion was gone.

Andrea was beside me; she took the glass away, put her arms around me, and murmured, "Is that better?"

I nodded wanly. "Yeah. A bit. Helps. But I've fucked up so bad. Got people killed. I don't know how you can stand to be my friend. To even know me." I realised that I'd been about to talk about things I wasn't supposed to talk about, and stopped.

"Because I love you," she whispered, and stood up. "Come on."

"Where to?" I asked, allowing her to pull me to my feet. "And where's Kinsey?"

"In the shower," she informed me. "But we're going to the bedroom. Your back's knotted up like hardwood, so I need to get you naked."

"You don't need to get me all the way naked to give me a back rub," I noted, my thoughts swimming just a little.

She giggled. "The way I do it, I do."

"Oh, yeah," I agreed, remembering some of her back-rubs. "You want to have sex with me, after."

"When do I not?" She closed the bedroom door, and started undoing my blouse. "Of course, you don't _have_ to, but … "

I didn't offer more than a token protest. A back-rub, after all, sounded like a _wonderful _idea. After a while, I found myself helping her take my clothes off, then getting hers off, too. It was familiar; it was comfortable. It was something, I found, that I had missed.

And then I was lying on my front, on the bed, as she poured scented oil on my back, straddled me, and started working on my muscles. Her thumbs dug in deeply, finding all the old trouble spots, relaxing me beyond all belief. It had been _so _long since I had felt like this.

I stayed awake all the way through the massage, until I was just a limp puddle on the bed. And when her hands started to wander in lewd and lascivious ways, I was still awake, and I did not protest.

She kissed me; I responded.

And what happened after that was between me and her, and no-one else.

-ooo-

We lay together, after, under a sheet, her head pillowed upon my shoulder. She was just as relaxed as I was, curled sinuously up against me like a giant cat; I could almost imagine her purring in my ear.

"Wow," she murmured. "You really needed that."

"I think you did too, you sneaky seducer," I replied, just as softly. "Don't think you're gonna catch me off guard like that again in a hurry."

She arched herself against me lazily, complacently. "I don't have to catch you _every_ time," she breathed. "Just once or twice is good enough for me. But wow, you had some serious knots in your back. Something's been really bothering you. Can you talk about it?"

I opened my eyes to look at her, and saw her green eyes, in the dim light of the bedroom, staring back at me. "I … well, it's classified, but you've pretty well figured it out," I admitted. "Plus, you know about the other thing." The fact of me being a time traveller, I meant.

"Yeah," she agreed. "So that's got something to do with it?"

I sighed. "Basically. I knew Behemoth was going to hit New York, of course. Just like I knew when he was going to hit Sao Paulo, last year. But I couldn't have believably predicted the Sao Paulo attack, whereas I _could_ predict New York, and make it look good."

Her eyes opened wide in the dimness. "I _heard_ they got early warning, and got a lot of the population out and away," she replied. "That was _you?"_

I nodded miserably. "I had to stay up for days at a time, pretending to work myself to a frazzle, to get the prediction right," I revealed. "And even then, I couldn't chance predicting it too early. So I gave them about ten hours of warning."

She held me close. "Why is that a bad thing?" she asked. "You saved lives!"

"Because people still _died_," I pointed out. "Some of them, people who would never have been there. Capes, parahumans, who wouldn't have been there. There were people trying to get out through the Holland Tunnel when Behemoth collapsed it; nearly a thousand people died, right there. If I hadn't warned them, they may not have even been in harm's way."

"_Stop it,"_ she whispered fiercely. "You're beating yourself up for not being good enough, not being perfect. Well, news flash, lover. No-one is. No-one can beat the odds every time, come up with a perfect victory every single time."

_Contessa can,_ I thought, but said nothing. _Oh, to have Contessa on my side._ But Lisa and I had not figured out a workable scenario to get the attention of Cauldron, or even Contessa, in a way that guaranteed me continued free action.

"I just … I felt I _could_ beat the odds," I admitted. "But after I gave the warning, after all that, Behemoth still emerged, he still killed capes and firefighters and ordinary people. People _died. _Not as many as would have, if I hadn't given the warning, but still, a lot. Too many. Far too many."

Andrea kissed me tenderly, softly. Not a lover's kiss; the kiss of someone who understands. "But you did give them the warning," she noted. "Imagine how much worse you'd feel right now, if you had just stood back and watched."

I tried to imagine just that. I couldn't. It was too horrible. I wouldn't have been able to do it. And with that realisation, the yawning feeling of failure abated. It didn't go away altogether, but it did reduce itself to manageable proportions. I hadn't _won,_ but nor had I lost. I'd just … changed the game.

And that, after all, was the idea.

Holding Andrea close, I kissed her soundly. "Thank you," I breathed, when we came up for air.

"Wow," she giggled. "Can we do that again?"

"What, and give you ideas?" I asked dryly. I gave her a kiss, not as deep as the last one, but warm and soft and loving. "This should keep you going." I threw the sheet back and sat up.

Her arms went around me from behind. "We can stay in bed a while longer … "

I leaned back against her warmth. "Sorry, Andrea, but I'm hungry." I took her hands in mine, and raised them to my lips, one and then the other. "We can talk more, after."

Climbing out of bed, I located my errant underwear, then picked up my blouse and skirt from where they had ended up on the floor. "Come on; from the smell of it, Kinsey's just about finished making dinner. Let's eat."

-ooo-

When we left the room, modest once more, Kinsey looked up from where he had just served out the meal. "I trust the captain enjoyed her nap?" he asked, rather dryly.

"The captain did," I agreed, trying not to grin. "I believe I rather needed it." The TV blared in the corner, and I raised an eyebrow. "Is your hearing going, or has that gotten rather loud, all of a sudden?"

"There was a program that I particularly wished to listen to, ma'am," he explained smoothly.

_More like, there was something else you didn't wish to listen to, _I translated.

"Indeed," I replied, inhaling deeply. "Well, it seems that you haven't lost any of your touch as a cook. Thank you, Kinsey."

He inclined his head toward me. "My pleasure, ma'am."

-ooo-

Afterward, we sat together on the sofa and watched TV, with the sound turned back down to reasonable levels. Andrea leaned up against me; despite both of us protesting, Kinsey had insisted on doing the dishes. Staying out of the way, I knew, so that I could be alone with Andrea.

The man, I decided, was a paragon.

"Oh, by the way," she murmured. "Thanks for earlier, with Danny's mom. For standing up to her and defending me."

I sighed. "I wish I could have convinced her."

She rubbed her cheek on mine. "You might have, in the end. You left before she could make a decision." A pause. "Why did you defend me, anyway? You didn't have to."

"Because … well, when I come from, gay rights isn't even a thing. Not needed."

"Because of Legend, you said?"

I nodded. "Legend, yeah. He changed everything. When a big name superhero publicly comes out of the closet, it kind of makes it a lot easier for everyone else."

"So … it just doesn't matter any more? To anyone?" Her green eyes were intent on mine.

"Yeah. Well, except for certain cultures. But even among them, it's kind of relaxed. America? No-one cares. Which is why it bothered me that Dot was bothered by you."

"So if you'd sat down to dinner one day and told your dad that you were gay, he would have said … ?"

I shrugged. "'That's nice. Pass the salt, please?'"

Andrea seemed to find that hilarious; she started giggling, then chuckling, then laughing. By the time, Kinsey came in from the kitchen to see what was going on, she was lying back on the sofa, still giggling; occasionally, she would cackle, "Pass the salt!"

And of course, I couldn't explain what I'd said, so I told him it was a 'girl joke', and he seemed to accept that.

-ooo-

Later, in bed, she was still occasionally giggling, even while cuddling up to me. "'Pass the salt', hah," she murmured. "I wish my dad had said _that_ to me."

I didn't ask what he _had_ said; I sensed an old wound, long closed. No sense in prodding it.

"Thank you for being here, for understanding," I told her. "I didn't realise just how bad I was hurting."

"You still are," she warned me, becoming serious for a moment. "That sort of thing doesn't go away overnight. It's going to take time."

"Yeah, I know," I sighed. "But it's a start."

"If you'd let me massage you _every_ night, you might get through it faster," she offered slyly.

"Right," I retorted dryly. "And I know exactly where you're going with that. No dice."

"Aww," she murmured playfully. "Spoilsport."

"Yup," I told her heartlessly. "Now, I don't know about you, but I'd like to get some sleep. Today's been a long, long day."

"Okay," she agreed readily enough, and turned so that I could spoon her. She was warm, and I was comfortable, and it didn't take long to drift off to sleep.

-ooo-

"_Well, that was interesting," Lisa commented._

_We lay on our backs, watching clouds drift across the deep-blue sky. The air was cool, with just a hint of a bite to it that seemed to indicate winter on the way._

_Lisa, I reflected, was getting very good at this._

_Raising myself on my elbows, I looked around. We were on the side of a mountain, or a very large hill, one of many around us. Beneath us was a springy, comfortable plant; a low, tough ground cover. Nearby was the picnic basket that we had used once before, planted in the middle of a red and white chequered cloth._

_My first hint as to our supposed location was Lisa's choice of wear; she had on a plaid-patterned skirt, which after a few seconds I recognised as a kilt. Around her waist was one of those Scottish belt pouches; I had no idea what it was called._

"_It's a sporran," she told me, sitting up. "So yeah, this is your idea of the Scottish highlands."_

_**Well, it's definitely high**__, I noted, looking around. I was wearing more normal gear; jeans and belly tee._

"_Thus the name," she agreed. "So, you've been stirring the waters, just a little bit. Care to enlighten me as to why?"_

_**With Dot?**__ I asked, and she nodded. __**Well, it's like I told Andrea. I was tired of Dot acting like she was a second class citizen.**_

_Lisa snorted indelicately. "Pull the other one, it plays Beethoven's Fifth in three-part harmony."_

_I blinked. __**What?**_

"_I. Don't. Believe. You," she elucidated. "Or rather, that was part of it, but there's more to it. So give with the rest of it."_

_**I … don't know what to tell you, **__I confessed. __**There is no 'rest' of it. That's the whole of it.**_

_Lisa rolled her eyes. "So, there's no deep-seated feelings of guilt, and need to punish yourself, left over from the Behemoth thing?"_

_**I … I feel bad, yeah, but …**_

"_Or about that guy you popped in the face, back in Batavia? That hasn't been gnawing at you, deep down, knowing that you could have shot him in the arm, just like you did his buddy?"_

_**I … he had the shotgun, I had a clear sight picture. He was a clear and present danger.**_

"_Which is why your training said 'shoot to kill'. And you shot him." Lisa knuckled my scalp; I pushed her hand away. "Which was the right thing to do. He was a bad man, and he would have killed again."_

_I blinked at her. __**So you're not saying I shouldn't have killed him?**_

"_Oh, god no," Lisa told me. "Some people need killing. He was one of them. You did what needed doing." She opened the picnic basket and started laying out food._

_I breathed a long sigh. __**Well, I guess I feel better, knowing that. **__Slathering butter on to some bread, I layered ham and bologna on to it, then topped it with some cottage cheese._

_She grinned at me mischievously. "I still say you would have gotten rid of that tension a lot sooner, if you'd slept with Kinsey."_

_I poked my tongue out at her. __**Nope. I've got my head back together now, or closer to it. That is not going to happen, so long as regulations forbid it.**__ Then I took a bite of my sandwich. It tasted heavenly._

_Lisa rolled her eyes. "You know, we're just going to keep having a rocky relationship if you don't occasionally let me talk you into an amazingly ill-advised venture."_

_**I'll chance it,**__ I told her cheerfully. __**Now, I'm guessing what you were going to say was that I wanted to punish myself, so I pushed matters with Dorothy regarding Andrea. Thus, possibly losing Dot as a friend.**_

"_Something like that," she mumbled indistinctly, biting into another sandwich._

_**Figured.**__ I nodded. __**Any idea which way she'll jump?**_

"_I'll let you know," she told me._

_**Thanks.**__ Then I paused, looking at the strange brownish lump that had pride of place on the picnic cloth. __**Uh … what exactly **_**is****_ that thing?_**

"_Can't you tell?" Lisa asked, her fox-like grin in full evidence. "This is Scotland. It's a haggis."_

_**Ew, **__I told her. __**I've heard how those things are made. No thanks. And besides, I think it just moved.**_

_Lisa shrugged. "Fine." She picked the thing up, and tossed it downslope a little way. "Fly, be free!" It hit the slope, and rolled. Pretty soon, it was picking up speed, and not long after that, it was out of sight altogether. She dusted her hands off. "Haggis, dealt with."_

_**Thank you,**__ I told her with a grin of my own. Lying back, I continued to eat my sandwich, while watching the clouds go by. __**This is nice.**_

"_It's meant to be. You need relaxing situations for the time being."_

_**Yeah, well. It's gonna be somewhat less than relaxing pretty soon.**_

_Lisa tilted her head. "Gladys said she'd help you. That's got to be a weight off your mind."_

_**I wasn't thinking about that,**__ I retorted. __**I was thinking about Careers Day. Good god, the horror.**_

_Lisa started laughing then, so I flicked a spoonful of cottage cheese at her. She retaliated with potato salad, so I let her have it with a jelly cup that I found in the basket._

_After that, it all went downhill, including us. We ended up wrestling, rolling down the slope as we did so, until I brought us to a halt, several dozen yards down from the picnic basket._

_I rolled apart from her and sat up; we were both still chuckling. I wiped some custard – where had __**that**__ come from? - off my cheek and popped it in my mouth. It was delicious._

_Lisa smirked at me. "I think it's time you woke up."_

_I nodded. __**Probably.**_

"_Kiss before you go?"_

_I kissed her; her lips tasted of dust and blood, and raspberry jelly. The ever-present wind whipped her hair across my face, and I blinked._

* * *

Andrea smiled sleepily as I lifted my lips away from hers.

"Good morning, lover," she murmured.

"Good morning," I replied, just as softly.

It was _nice_ to be back in Brockton Bay.

Now, if only I didn't have to kill someone while I was here.

* * *

End of Part 4-2


	22. Chapter 22

/o\

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 4-3: Preparations for Murder

* * *

**Wednesday, March 30, 1994**

**The Boardwalk**

* * *

Kinsey stood firm. "No, ma'am."

I eyed him with a certain amount of exasperation. "Sergeant Kinsey."

"Ma'am."

"As your commanding officer, I am ordering you -"

He cleared his throat, in that unmistakeable way which good subordinates everywhere learn to use, and good superiors learn to recognise; the tone which says subtly, _Ma'am, if you keep talking, you'll be making a big mistake._

I stopped and thought for a moment. "Prior orders, Sergeant?"

He nodded. "Yes, ma'am. From the Lieutenant Colonel."

"Not to let me out of your sight, no doubt?"

He nodded again. "Yes, ma'am. As your protective detail -"

"Sergeant." My voice was firm. "I'm going on a _camping trip._ Not on an insertion mission into enemy territory." Which was more or less what I _was_ doing, to be honest. But I couldn't let Kinsey know that.

"The Lieutenant Colonel will neither understand nor care about the difference, should he contact me while you are away, ma'am," he replied obdurately. "As your protective detail, I am required to be at your side, or as near as possible, at all times."

Something about the way he stated that gave me pause. "Wait. You're not telling me that I can't go, just that I can't go without _you._ Is that it?"

He nodded. "Of course, ma'am."

"But if I was in town, it would be a lot easier to protect me, so you'd rather I didn't go at all."

His expression was extremely bland, which was a dead giveaway in itself. "If you say so, ma'am."

"Well, I need to go," I told him bluntly. "I need to get out and about, away from everything. So yes, I am going, and you'll be coming with, apparently."

He nodded. "Ma'am." A pause. "May I ask who else is attending this camping trip?"

I grinned. "Gladys and Andrea."

"Hmm." He rubbed his closely-shaven chin. "I foresee an interesting trip, ma'am."

It was my turn to be extremely bland. "I have no idea why you might say such a thing, Sergeant."

Was that a glint of amusement in his eye? "If the Captain says so."

"I do say so, Sergeant."

Internally, I was recalculating matters. _Plan B, then._

-ooo-

* * *

**Friday, April 1, 1994**

**Outside Winslow High School**

* * *

Kinsey stood beside the car door, at parade rest, despite the fact that he wasn't in uniform. I leaned against the hood of the car, while Andrea bounced up and down beside me, too excited to contain her enthusiasm. "I can't wait," she announced for perhaps the tenth time that day. "I can't wait. I haven't been camping in like _forever!"_

I smiled tolerantly and corralled her with my arm. She immediately snuggled up to me. "Don't waste all your energy jumping up and down, sweetie," I told her. "Save some of it for hiking."

She snorted. "Why aren't _you_ more excited? I thought you _liked_ camping."

"I do, I do," I assured her. "But after ROTC and Boot, the idea of sleeping on the ground lost a good deal of its glamour and excitement, for me anyway." I half-turned my head toward the impassive sergeant. "Wouldn't you say so, Kinsey?"

"Yes, ma'am," he agreed. "You can only have bugs crawl down your neck so many times before the concept loses all of its magic."

"You're both spoilsports, and wet blankets," Andrea accused us. "Camping is fun and exciting, and I'm going to enjoy myself if it kills me."

I chuckled and rubbed my cheek against the top of her head. "Don't ever change, sweetie."

She smiled and put her arm around me, then looked over at the school. "Isn't she finished yet? I wanna _go_ already."

"She's got a big test on," I reminded her. "And school's not even out yet. Teachers have their own schedules to keep, remember."

She nodded. "So where are we going to, anyway?"

"A camping ground out to the west of Brockton Bay," I explained, mindful of Kinsey's attention. Some officers forget that whenever they speak, NCOs listen, and think about what was said. I was always careful to keep that in mind, and I knew that Kinsey was far more than a dumb grunt.

"So will we be hiking?" she prompted. "I like hiking."

I nodded. "I believe we will be, yes. Though you probably wouldn't enjoy hiking the way Gladys and I are used to doing it."

She looked up at me. "And how's that?" she asked challengingly.

Behind us, Kinsey cleared his throat. "I believe the Captain is referring to what we call a 'route march', miss," he explained. "Heavy pack, fast pace."

"Oh," replied Andrea. "How heavy?"

"About as heavy as you," I told her cheerfully.

She shook her head. "No way."

I grinned at her. "Mayyybe."

"The Captain," Kinsey put in, "is exaggerating just a little, for effect. Although thirty pound packs are not uncommon."

Andrea wrinkled her nose. "Thirty pounds? All at once? Ouch."

"You get used to it," I told her. "Eventually."

"But you won't be carrying thirty-pound packs out there?"

"No need," I agreed. "A canteen, and a pack of sandwiches, is all we'll need."

"Oh, okay." She captured my hand and played with it, interlacing her fingers with mine. "I still can't believe that you're a captain."

"It's still kinda new to me, too," I admitted. "But with Kinsey there to remind me, I'm pretty sure I won't forget."

"Which also reminds me, ma'am," Kinsey replied. "I've checked over your dress uniform, and it will be ready to wear once we return from the camping trip."

I rolled my eyes; Andrea giggled. "Oh, joy," I groused, not seriously. "Dressing up like a stuffed dummy for the entertainment of others."

"The dress uniform serves a purpose, ma'am," Kinsey noted. "Showing off the PRT is not a bad thing. It gets us out there in the public eye. And who knows; one or two of the children who see you may decide to join the PRT themselves."

"So long as they don't decide to join for the pretty uniform," I pointed out. "We need serious people, soldiers. People who are willing to get in there and do the hard work. Peacocks, we don't need." _It's going to be a long, hard road ahead._

"Not necessarily so, ma'am," he responded. "We can always do with more people in Recruiting. And public relations."

I considered that. "Okay, yes, you do have a point there. Now all we have to do is keep the people in PR away from those of us that are actually doing the real work."

Andrea giggled; Kinsey coughed, perhaps to hide a snort.

* * *

The bell went for the end of school; I straightened up and looked toward the main doors. After a few moments, they opened and students began exiting; one or two at a time at first, and then a veritable flood. We watched them pour out, congregating in groups or streaming out to the bus stop. Others went to cars that had been waiting in the parking lot, got in, and were driven away.

I ignored the flood tide of adolescent humanity, keeping my eyes fixed on the main doors. Once Gladys came out, we could go.

_It's strange,_ I mused. _Apart from the Nine, I've never set out to assassinate someone before, but in this particular case, I'm actually eager for it to be done._ I knew why, of course; not only was the man himself repugnant, but it would help inure me to the other killings I had planned.

It wasn't this one that I would regret. It was the next one. But some things had to be done.

The outrush had died to a trickle. Gladys still had not appeared. I checked my watch and frowned.

Andrea voiced my concern; "Where is she? She should have been out by now."

I nodded. "Yeah. Kinsey, stay with the car. Let's go see what's going on."

"Ma'am."

With Andrea at my side, I headed across the parking lot and up the stairs. The doors were standing open, left that way by the children who had just exited. We entered.

"Her classroom's this way, isn't it?" asked Andrea, her voice echoing a little in the empty hallway.

I nodded. "Yeah." We moved on.

* * *

I was surprised at the nostalgic feeling that overtook me once more as we walked through the corridors of Winslow. I had attended this school in two separate time periods; it was odd to think that I had graduated before I was ever born. The place smelled better than it ever had when I had first attended, and looked better too. But smells and paintwork aside, the underlying structure of the building was still there. This was too close to the Winslow I had known for me to pretend that it was a different school.

Briefly, I nursed a fantasy of returning to the school once most of my work was over, and getting a job teaching there, at about the time Emma and her friends would be attending. There'd be no way they'd get away with their bullying antics if _I_ was there. It was a pleasant idea, but I dismissed it; I had serious work to do. Mere bullies were not important in the grand scheme of things.

* * *

We approached the Computer Studies classroom, and I peered in through the window set into the door. Gladys was still in there, and so was one other person. She, at least, I recognised; it was Ms Blackwell, who had taught Home Economics when I had begun attending in 1989. And, of course, who had been the principal when I had begun attending in 2009.

We had never really seen eye to eye, for obvious reasons. When I met her again at an earlier time, I didn't like her, and she had picked up on that, although she could not know the reason for my dislike. Throughout my second time at Winslow, we had cordially ignored one another; fortunately, girls were not required to take Home Ec, and I was fine with that. Besides, I already _knew_ how to cook.

Knocking on the door, I pushed it open. "Excuse me?" I asked. "Gladys, are you ready to go?"

Gladys turned to face me, but it was Ms Blackwell who spoke first. "I'm afraid that Mrs Knott won't be going anywhere," she began, then stopped and peered at me. "I'm sorry; I know your face, but I just can't place you."

"Taylor Snow," I supplied. "I used to be a student here. Gladys is going camping with me and my friends. What's the holdup?"

Her face cleared. "Ah yes, now I recall you. Mrs Knott is going to be assisting me in readying for Careers Day, over the weekend," she informed me tartly. "I'm afraid your camping trip will have to be put on hold."

I shook my head. "Nope. I already spoke to Principal Woodbine on the matter. She's cleared to go."

"I don't believe you," she declared flatly.

I shrugged. "So ask him."

"The principal," she informed me with a certain satisfaction, "has already left for the day."

_So phone him,_ I almost replied, before reminding myself that mobile phones were still on the way in, and Woodbine wouldn't be carrying one yet.

"Well, tell you what," I told her cheerfully, "you talk to him when you see him, and if I'm lying, you can put me in detention. Oh wait; you can't. I've already graduated."

She glared at me. "You're interfering with school business. I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Sure," I agreed. "Gladys comes with."

"No." She shook her head. "She stays."

"Oh, for god's sake," Andrea exclaimed. "Gladys, where are your tests?"

Silently, Gladys pointed at the stacked tests, waiting on the desk. Andrea trotted over, picked them up and returned to my side. "I'm kidnapping these," she announced. "If you ever want to see them again, Gladys, you're going to have to come with us."

"Put those back!" Blackwell stepped toward Andrea; I moved between them. As tall as she was, I had a couple of inches on her. She stopped, looking up at me.

"I've been getting training in close in hand to hand combat since I was fifteen," I murmured. "Touch her, and you _will_ regret it." _Touch __**me**__, and you'll regret it even more,_ I didn't have to say.

"Woo!" Andrea pushed the door open and exited into the corridor, waving the tests over her head. "I'm getting away!"

"Come back here with those!" Gladys slipped past Blackwell; the Home Ec teacher went to stop her, but I stepped into her path once more.

As Gladys escaped into the corridor, I faced Blackwell, forcing eye contact. "Well?"

After a few seconds, her eyes dropped away from mine. "Woodbine will hear about this."

"Say hi for me," I agreed. "See you Monday."

Turning, I pushed the door open and exited, leaving her standing there.

Students, I reflected, were not the only bullies to be found at Winslow.

-ooo-

I found Andrea and Gladys a little way down the corridor; Gladys had the shorter woman in a headlock, which was standard practice. She was also tickling Andrea unmercifully, which wasn't.

"Steal _my_ tests, will you?" she scolded Andrea, while the redhead squirmed and giggled in her grasp. As I approached, Gladys suddenly let out an "Eep!" and released her. Andrea darted away and hid behind me, leaning out to poke her tongue out at Gladys.

"Wow," I observed. "First time I've seen anyone break one of Gladys' holds. How'd you pull that off?"

"She grabbed my butt," Gladys explained, rubbing that part of her anatomy, and directing a mock glare at Andrea.

"Really?" I asked, casually putting my arm around Andrea's shoulders. "I'm impressed."

Andrea nodded impudently. "Nice butt too. Really firm cheeks. Do you lift weights with them or someth- mmmph!"

She had been watching Gladys' hands and not mine, which was her mistake; she tried to squirm out of my hold, but I was ready for her. And my hand across her mouth stopped her from speaking, at least temporarily.

Gladys reached out and relieved her of the tests. "I'll take _those, _thank you very much." Stepping back, she straightened them, glancing through to ensure that they were all there.

Andrea licked my hand; I didn't let her go. Instead, I turned her a little until we were eye to eye. "Are you going to behave?"

Reluctantly, she nodded. I let her go; she glared at me, or tried to. With her mussed hair and dancing eyes, she merely succeeded in looking adorable. I reached out and wiped my hand on her shoulder. She grinned at me. "I can't believe that didn't work."

"You're just going to have to find some other way to catch me off guard," I told her. "Shall we go? Kinsey will be thinking that we've been given lines to write or something."

"Wait." Gladys stared at me. "Sergeant Kinsey's coming along?"

I sighed. "Not my idea. He got prior orders that I can't override."

She looked concerned. "But that'll make -"

"Four's a crowd, sure," I broke in, giving her a warning glance. _You never know when someone is listening._ "But we'll manage."

She caught my meaning immediately. "Okay, sure. I'm sure we'll sort something out."

I nodded. With the assistance of Andrea and Lisa, I already had.

-ooo-

"So tell me," Andrea piped up as we exited the main doors of Winslow. "You and that other teacher don't like each other very much. What's the deal there?"

She was looking at me, so I answered. "It has to do with something that happened back in the day," I explained carefully.

Andrea got it first. "What, you mean back _then?"_

I nodded. "Yeah. I went to this school."

"Wow," Andrea commented. "What was it like? Was that woman still a teacher then?"

"It was the worst school in Brockton Bay, and that's saying something," I told her frankly. "Gang activity, drug use, outright bullying, teachers not caring, the whole nine yards. About three times as many students crammed into the same space."

"And Blackwell?" asked Gladys.

I looked her in the eye. "She was the principal. I got bullied on a daily basis, and she just turned a blind eye. Even when she was given evidence to back up my case."

"Wow," murmured Andrea, putting her arm around me. "That sucks."

I returned the gesture. "It did. I mean, I wouldn't be here today if it hadn't happened, but it was still very unpleasant."

Andrea frowned. "What do you mean, you wouldn't be here today?"

"Long, long story," I told her. "Tell you when we get back."

"I'll hold you to that," she decided.

Gladys had a thoughtful look on her face. "I'd heard that Carrie was going to put her name up for consideration as vice principal," she observed. "I didn't think much of it. But if she was the principal _then_ ..."

"Hey!" Andrea interjected. "Why don't you put _your_ name down?"

"What?" objected Gladys, flustered. "I couldn't ... _could_ I?"

I slapped her on the shoulder. "Sure you could," I assured her. "We both went through ROTC; that's a perfect place to learn discipline, and how to keep people in line. If I can join the PRT and make captain, you can be vice principal. And maybe principal one day."

"Yeah," Andrea put in. "And if anyone gives you hassle, take 'em out to the range and tell 'em to try to outshoot you." She grinned. "The look on Emily's face was fuckin' _priceless."_

Gladys didn't answer, but her expression became very thoughtful indeed. I inclined my head toward where Kinsey waited beside the car. "Come on, let's go."

-ooo-

"Turn left just up ahead," I directed Kinsey.

"Ma'am," he responded, and began to slow down, clicking the indicator on at the same time. The tyres of the hire car crunched over gravel as Kinsey carefully drove us down the side-road.

* * *

We had been on the road for perhaps an hour after leaving Brockton Bay, heading more or less due west. Lisa and I had gone over the maps for legal camp grounds that didn't actually have on-site staff, and then we had gone over the maps for places where you could camp that the rangers wouldn't find you for a few days.

The place we were going to fell into the second category. There were no fireplaces, no cabins, no running water or other amenities. Of the four of us, Andrea was the only one who had not experienced this sort of deprivation on a non-voluntary basis. But I had faith in her boundless energy and optimism. And the fact that I was there to share it with her.

Kinsey's taking the driver seat allowed Andrea and I to relax in the back seat, with Gladys in the front, and catch up on old times. It had not been an ideal situation; egged on by Gladys, Andrea had cheerfully told Kinsey the story about how she and I had first met, and why I had come on to her in the first place. She did not, of course, explain to him why I had found it necessary to break up Andrea and Anne-Rose, but then, Kinsey would already have noted the resemblance between the two of us.

That led into other reminiscences, such as the fight that had propelled Gladys and myself into the JROTC, and the other one at the senior prom, both related by Gladys. She put a certain amount of enthusiasm into it, and kept Andrea laughing all the way through, while I wondered if my hair was going to catch fire, given how hot my face felt.

Fortunately, they had (eventually) run out of embarrassing stories to tell about me, and Andrea and I teamed up to tell some about Gladys' less-than-whirlwind romance with Franklin. We didn't even _try_ to embarrass Andrea with any stories; we both knew that was a lost cause from the start. She actually told some of her own, voluntarily, which did not faze me, given that I knew her, but had Gladys blushing mightily a few times.

Throughout the whole trip, Kinsey neither blushed, nor cracked more than a slight smile, which spoke volumes about his self-control.

* * *

He pulled the car to a halt next to a likely-looking clearing; a lake glinted through the trees in the late afternoon sunlight. We all got out and stretched our legs; I took a look all around, then straight up. The hire car, a dull green, would hopefully blend in with the foliage if an aircraft happened to overfly our ad hoc campsite.

Putting my hands on my hips, I swung my shoulders one way and then the other, popping my spine in a few places. "Looks perfect," I commented out loud. "What do you think, Gladys?"

"Back in ROTC, I would've loved to find a place like this to bed down," she replied, opening the car's trunk and starting to unload the gear. "But they always seemed to find the most uncomfortable places to set up camp."

Kinsey nodded, moving over to give her a hand. "So if you went through ROTC with the Captain, why didn't you go on to the military?"

"Just wasn't my thing," she told him. "I wanted to get married, get a nice safe civilian job. I was only in it because Taylor was. I didn't want to make a career out of it."

_And because I told you to stay out of it,_ I supplied silently. I liked Gladys where she was; safe and out of the action.

Well, _mostly_ out of the action.

* * *

Did I feel guilty about asking Gladys for her assistance? Yes. Did I think it was necessary? _Hell_ yes. If I knew for a _fact _that it would mean her death, would I still go through with it?

I don't like to think about questions like that, because I'm afraid of the answers I might give.

* * *

-ooo-

Once we had the camp set up – with four one-person pup-tents – we set out to explore the area. A gentle gradient led down to a lake, now sparkling and shimmering with the reds and golds of a truly gorgeous sunset. Looking back, I was gratified to note that our campsite was out of sight of the lake itself, and (by extension) of anyone boating on it. A loud splash startled me; I looked around to see that Andrea had dropped her jacket, stripped out of her T-shirt and jeans, stepped out of her sandals, and dived in.

I was just grateful, for Kinsey's sake, that she had chosen to wear underwear that day. It certainly wasn't on her own account; for Andrea, body modesty was something that happened to other people.

"Woo!" she yelled when she surfaced. "Woo! _Woooooo!"_

"So how's the water?" called Gladys, from safely on shore.

"Fuckin' _freezing!"_ Andrea yelled back, splashing up a storm. "Come on in!"

I slipped off my sandals and tested the water with a toe. As Andrea had intimated, it was indeed very, very cold.

"You know," I commented to Gladys, "if we don't, she's going to lord it over us from here on in."

Gladys grimaced. "I wish you weren't right."

We both took our jackets and tops off; Gladys undid her skirt, while I stepped out of my jeans. "On three?"

"On three," Gladys agreed. "One … two … "

"Three!" I shouted, and we dived in.

Andrea had been right; it was fucking _freezing._

* * *

I surfaced with a gasp, feeling as though I had just jumped into a vat of stinging, razor sharp, ice shards. A couple of yards away, Gladys came up for air; on her face was the expression that I suspected she was seeing on mine.

"Holy shit," she gasped.

"Fuck me rigid," I agreed.

I splashed over to Andrea, who was grinning at the both of us. "Cold enough for you?" she asked, in between the chattering of her teeth.

"You're nuts," Gladys told her.

"Certifiably insane," I added.

"We're getting out," Gladys concluded.

I nodded. "Now. Before hypothermia sets in."

Andrea didn't argue; she'd gotten us in there in the first place, which had been her aim all along. We splashed back to shore and climbed on to dry land. Our clothes were still there, but no Kinsey. I was just trying to figure out how to get dry without wetting my clothes when I spotted him coming back through the trees.

"Ladies," he greeted us blandly. "Did you enjoy your evening dip?"

"T-t-t-too fucking c-c-cold," Gladys replied, then she spotted the towels he was carrying. "Oh god, thank you. You're a fucking g-g-genius."

* * *

Wrapped in the towels, with our jackets over the top, we made our way back to the campsite, wearing our sandals; Kinsey was kind enough to carry our clothes. A chill breeze was starting to come up, now that the sun was almost down, and we were grateful for the dry clothes and underwear in our packs. We used the car as a screen to change behind; Kinsey thoughtfully averted his eyes in the process.

While we were doing this, he set up a camp stove, which gave out a certain amount of warmth, and we clustered around it. Andrea, of course, snuggled up next to me. I opened my jacket and put my arm around her shoulders, and she did the same inside my embrace.

"Well, that was fun," Gladys commented, her hair now bound up in a towel. I had never been so glad about having short hair; my scalp was dry under the woollen beanie, after a good hard scrub with my towel.

"In a 'let us never do that again' sort of way," I agreed. "Andrea, I love you dearly, but you're nuts, you do know that, right?"

Andrea giggled. "Yeah, but the looks on your _faces_ … "

"Just so you know," Gladys informed her, "if you snore, I'm throwing you back in the lake."

"Talking about the lake," I commented. "I might see if I can hike around it tomorrow."

"What, all the way around it?" Andrea asked, taking up the cue. "Are you serious?"

"I thought you _liked_ hiking," Gladys teased her; we had spoken about that in the car.

"There's hiking, and then there's masochism," Andrea told her firmly. "And that's a big fat 'nope' from me."

"Well, I'll do it with you," Gladys told me. "If you don't mind, Taylor?"

"Sure," I agreed. "We can take sandwiches and canteens, make a picnic lunch on the other side." I grinned. "It's not like we'll get lost."

"I'm coming as well," Kinsey told me firmly.

I sighed. "I'll be _fine,"_ I assured him. "You know Gladys did ROTC with me. We _practised_ getting each other out of difficult situations." I tilted my head sideways to indicate Andrea. "And she'll be staying back at the car. To be honest, I'd much prefer that someone stay back with her."

Kinsey grimaced. I hated putting him on the spot like this, but I really, really needed to not be under his scrutiny, and this had been the backup plan.

"At least tell me you'll be going armed," he finally relented.

I nodded. "Yup. I brought along my Glock. Ankle rig, with a spare magazine in my pocket, just in case I run into something that _really_ needs persuading. Also good for signalling, in case we get into trouble."

That, at least, took some of the tension out of his shoulders. "I shouldn't be letting you do this," he growled, but it was a rearguard action; he'd already surrendered.

"Look," I told him. "We'll be _fine_. I just need to get out as far away from other people as humanly possible and clear my head. Okay?"

The set look on his face told me that he still wasn't totally fine with the idea, but he'd been outmanoeuvred and he knew it.

"Very well, ma'am," he conceded grudgingly. "But if you're not back by an hour before sundown, I'm going to come looking. And if I don't find you then, I'll be alerting everyone from the National Guard on down. If you get hurt on my watch, the Lieutenant Colonel _will_ have my guts for garters."

I tried for a voice of reason. "You _do_ realise that the main reason you're here as my protective detail is in case DC tries to poach me, right?"

"Protective detail is protective detail," he responded grimly. "No matter what it's for. I'm not going to ignore a potential problem, just because I haven't been ordered to look out for it."

He had a point. "Very well, Kinsey. An hour before sunset, it is." Which would cut into the available time, but that couldn't be helped.

"Thank you, ma'am." He wasn't happy, he wasn't grateful, but he did his best to appear to be both.

Unfortunately, there was no way I could tell him more without letting him in on what was going on, and while there was a chance that he would accept it, I couldn't risk it. Not at this early stage of the game.

-ooo-

The night got chillier as the hour got later. Kinsey rustled up some hot food, which we gratefully accepted, but soon it was time to hit the double-insulated sleeping bags. As we rose from around the camp stove, Kinsey gestured to me. "Might I have a word, ma'am?"

"Certainly, Kinsey." It would do no harm to be gracious after having already won the argument. "What's the matter?"

"In private, ma'am," he told me. "Please?"

I glanced at Andrea, who nodded. "Go ahead," she assured me. "I'll wait."

Clasping her hand briefly, I moved over to Kinsey; we strolled out into the darkness, his flashlight showing the way. By now, it was very chilly; I had my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my jacket, while he wore gloves.

When we were well away from the campsite, and but still able to see the other two moving around by the light of the camp stove, we stopped. I turned to him. "Is there a problem, Kinsey?"

"I'm not sure, ma'am," he replied. "It may be one, and it may not."

I waited. "Yes?" I prompted him.

He took a deep breath of the freezing air, then exhaled it in a white gust. "Your … friend, ma'am. Ms Campbell."

"You mean, my girlfriend, Andrea." My voice was flat. "Are you having trouble with the idea?"

He shook his head. "No, ma'am. What people do in their own time, and with whom, is their choice. None of my business."

"Then what about Andrea?" I asked him bluntly.

He hesitated. "She's been … indicating availability, ma'am. Flirting with me. Normally, I wouldn't see it as a problem, but as you will be out of the campsite all day tomorrow, with Mrs Knott, and I'll be alone with her … "

I smiled slightly. "Ah. I see. Well, let me put your mind at rest, Kinsey."

"Ma'am?"

"Andrea and I are a couple only in that we are deeply attached to one another. I do not tell her who she can sleep with, and she does me the same favour. Do you understand?"

"I … think so, ma'am."

"Let me put it more plainly, Kinsey. If, tomorrow, something happens between you two, that's entirely between you and Andrea. It's none of my business." I paused. "In fact, if she makes a play for you, and you feel like taking her up on it, you have my blessing. Is that plain enough?"

I somewhat regretted the darkness; the expression on his face must have been quite a picture. "I … entirely, ma'am."

"Thank you, Kinsey. Was there anything else?"

He seemed to have recovered his equilibrium. "No, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am."

As we made our way back to the campsite, he was silent, perhaps mulling over what I had just told him. I was silent also; in my case, it was because I was thinking about what I was going to be doing in the morning.

-ooo-

The inflatable mattress made the hard ground somewhat more bearable, and the down-filled sleeping-bag warded off the chill quite well. I snuggled down inside my pup tent, and was just drifting off to sleep when someone fumbled their way inside.

"Who is it?" I murmured.

"Who do you think?" asked Andrea, with a muffled giggle.

I smiled in the darkness. "What's the matter, your tent not crowded enough for you?"

"Well, you're not in it, so that's one thing," she admitted.

I sighed. Andrea really was incorrigible. "Okay, fine," I agreed, and unzipped the bag. "Come on in."

The chill night air flooded in as Andrea wriggled in with me, and then helped me – with many muffled giggles – to zip it up again.

"Christ," I muttered. "You're freezing."

"You're not," she replied. "You're nice and toasty. Warm me up?"

There wasn't much else that I could do; I embraced her closely, and soon she stopped shivering.

"Mmm," she murmured, brushing her lips against my neck. "I wonder if we could … "

"Not in a sleeping-bag," I told her firmly. "Just nope."

"Spoilsport," she giggled, but refrained from trying any acrobatics in the extremely confined area. Her hands, warm now, slid up my back under my sleeping top. "Mmm, this _is_ nice."

I had to agree with her; it was.

We fell asleep in each others' arms.

-ooo-

* * *

**Saturday, April 2, 1994**

* * *

My watch alarm woke me at oh-dark-thirty. I fumbled my way out of the sleeping-bag, while Andrea mumbled vague complaints and tried to snuggle up to me again. But I got her settled down, then stumbled out of the pup tent. I'd left my clothes laid out the night before, under a cover so that the morning dew did not soak them. By the time I was settling the ankle holster into place (I _had_ promised Kinsey) the first gleams of the morning sun were beginning to light the eastern sky.

Gladys was up as well; she approached me, zipping up her jacket. "Well, we're up," she murmured. "Where do we go from here?" Her breath hung in the morning air, as did mine.

"Follow me," I told her, just as quietly.

We started off around the lake, just as I had told Kinsey we would; I did not put it past him to keep a watch, and see which way we went. But once we were out of sight of the camp, which didn't take long in the dawn half-light, I turned us sharp right and began to navigate by way of a compass.

* * *

We walked steadily for half an hour, during which time the sun rose and began to filter down through the trees. When we reached the highway, I put the compass away and we turned left, staying in the trees, out of sight of anyone driving along the road. At the half-hour mark, I spotted the clearing up ahead, with the vehicle in it. I also saw something else.

"Okay," I murmured to Gladys. "Hands in plain sight, no sudden movements."

She nodded. "I know. Seen 'em too."

I stepped forward, hands up and in front of me; Gladys followed along. As we did so, three men materialised out of the surrounding shrubbery, each holding an assault rifle. Each of them wore a camo-patterned balaclava, as well as camo jackets, and leaves attached to them here and there. Their camouflage was good; anyone without the training that Gladys and I had gone through probably would not have spotted it.

The taller of the three stepped forward. "Names," he demanded, his rifle centred on my chest.

"I'm Weaver; this is Shooter," I responded. There was no percentage in giving these guys our real names; besides, the names I had given them would have been the names that Andrea told them to expect.

He pulled off the balaclava and grinned, showing missing teeth and a two-week beard. "Call me Strike," he greeted me, offering his hand.

"Good to meet you, Strike," I told him, shaking it briskly. "You brought the gear?"

"Sure thing," he agreed. "Zeroed and all."

Turning back to the vehicle – which I now saw was a battered-looking SUV – he opened the back door and lifted out a long plastic case. Laying this on the hood of the SUV, he opened it, to reveal a rifle.

But not just any rifle. It was a very distinctive weapon; I had known about it from the start, but Gladys only took a couple of seconds to recognise it. "That's … a Barrett, right?" she asked.

Strike grinned again. "Barrett M-eighty-two-A-one," he agreed. "The lady knows her rifles."

Stepping forward, Gladys carefully lifted the gun from its case. She was careful not to joggle the scope as she brought it to her shoulder. She hefted the weight of the weapon with ease as her cheek snuggled in to the butt, and her eye fell in line with the scope.

"Oh, _yeah_ … " she murmured.

"Ever fired one of those?" asked Strike.

Gladys carefully replaced it in the case, closed it, and snapped the latches, before answering him. "Nope," she replied. "But I'm looking forward to it."

"Felt recoil is a bitch," he warned her. "Especially with the specialised high-velocity ammo you ordered with it."

She shrugged. "I've fired rifles before. Springfield's got a kick to it, too."

He frowned. "Maybe we should take it someplace, so you can make sure you're good with it."

I checked my watch and shook my head. "No time." The timetable in my head was indicating that we needed to get moving. "Let's go."

One of the other men went to say something, but Strike cut him off with a gesture. "Orders say that Weaver's in charge. So Weaver gives the orders."

I breathed a silent sigh of relief. At least that bit had gotten through without confusion. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

* * *

With Strike and one man in the front, and the other man plus Gladys and I in the back, with the case for the Barrett over our knees, the SUV was a little crowded. It started all right, and bumped out on to the road; the driver wheeled left, and tromped on the gas.

"How long till we get to the airfield?" I called over the roar of the engine. Beside me, Gladys' eyes widened, and she mouthed _Airfield?_ at me. Fractionally, I shook my head.

"Forty-five minutes," was the answer I got back.

"Can you make it in thirty?" I asked.

The only answer was a surge in acceleration.

-ooo-

We made it to the airfield in a little over thirty minutes, but not so much that I was overly concerned. The only aircraft on the strip was a twin-engine prop plane. Its engines were ticking over as we pulled up to the side of the airfield.

I glanced over at the control tower, the early morning sunlight glinting from its windows. "Anyone in there?"

Strike and his friends had doffed their camouflage jackets before getting into the vehicle; under them, they wore ordinary sweaters and jeans. He put on a pair of sunglasses before gesturing at the structure. "Officially, we're a stock standard charter flight. We do a run every few days, just to keep up appearances. Sometimes with paying customers, sometimes with one of our other people. Unofficially, they think we're smuggling weed. We pay 'em to look the other way, and they see nothing."

I nodded. "Layers within layers. Nicely done." I paused. "I believe there was also the matter of a couple of pistols, with shoulder rigs?"

"What, to go along with that peashooter on your ankle?" he responded with a grin. Taking a backpack from the footwell in the front seat, he handed it to me. "Glock seventeens. Brand new barrels, won't raise a flag anywhere. Two spare mags. All yours."

I opened the pack and checked, just in case; the pistols were there, as were the magazines, as promised. Each felt solidly heavy, packed with ammunition.

"Gotta ask, what are you planning on doing?" Strike queried as we headed for the Cessna. "Starting your own private war up there?" I also heard the question he wasn't asking. _And why aren't my men invited along?_

I looked back at him, through the oversized sunglasses I wore over my normal glasses. "Sorry," I told him. "Need to know."

He shrugged, having expected nothing less. "Oh well, catch you on the flip side."

"Just be waiting."

* * *

I let Gladys get on the plane first, helping her with the case for the Barrett, which we settled into the non-existent aisle. We settled into the front passenger seats, and strapped ourselves in. Strike closed the outer door, then banged on the side of the plane. Through the window, we saw him retreat to the SUV.

The engine notes rose to a roar, and the plane surged down along the runway. Turning, the copilot handed us back two sets of headphones. He was anonymous behind a pair of sunglasses, as were both Gladys and myself. I fitted the headphones on, and moved the mic into position.

"_Good morning,"_ the pilot's voice came through the earpieces nice and clear. _"I'm pleased to note that tailwinds will give us a faster than expected transit, so we should be landing ten minutes ahead of schedule. You will be requiring a return trip, no doubt?"_

"Thank you, and yes we will," I replied. "Is there anything else that you need to know?"

"_Absolutely nothing,"_ the pilot responded. _"Please enjoy your flight. There are water bottles in the compartments in front of you."_

"Thank you," I replied once more.

I pulled the earphones off my head, and let them hang around my neck, then gestured for Gladys to do the same. She looked a question at me, and I tapped the microphone, and moved it as far away from my mouth as possible. Comprehension dawned, and she followed suit.

Leaning over to her, I spoke at normal volume, right into her ear; with the noise that the engines were making, absent Tinker-tech surveillance gear, there wasn't a hope in hell that the aircrew could hear what we were saying.

"Okay," I told her. "I suppose you're wondering what the hell's going on."

"You _could_ say that," she agreed, with admirably restrained sarcasm. "Mercenaries? Private aircraft? High-powered sniper rifles? An organisation that pretends to smuggle drugs, just so it can smuggle people? Code names? What _are_ you mixed up in, Taylor?"

"Same business as always," I explained. "Saving the world, one small piece at a time. In this case, removing one man from it."

"Can I ask why? What has he done? Or is it something he'll do in the future?"

"His name's Nikos Vasil," I told her. "In time, he'll become known as Heartbreaker. He kidnaps people using his power, to make them love him, loyal to him. Just in case he becomes a problem to me later, I need to remove him now."

He would, I knew, become a problem. Lisa had told me so. So he had to go.

"And you couldn't send your mercenaries in to kill him?" she asked.

"Not my mercenaries," I told her. "Someone else's." _Probably not the time to tell her that Andrea's running her own private mercenary army. As well as our financial empire._ "But under my orders for the moment. However, they wouldn't work for this. I know the problems with facing him; if he's aware of you, he can bring you under his sway. They wouldn't understand the danger, but I know you'll follow my lead in this. And you're the best shot I know."

"Is his power so bad that you have to kill him?" she asked.

"He kidnaps celebrities from the street," I told her. "Sees a pretty girl, walks up to her, speaks to her. In seconds, she's enthralled by him. Leaves everything to come with him. He has _children_ by them. Left unchecked, he'll end up with more than a dozen kids by different women." I saw her expression change at that.

"But the police -" she objected.

"Tried," I replied. "The officers that turned up, were turned. Now he's surrounded by innocents, who are fully intelligent, and working for him. They'll happily die for him. So he's left alone."

Her face paled. "Fuck. So you want me to sniper him."

I nodded. "Got it in one."

"What if I can't go through with this?"

"Then I'll do it." I shrugged. "I'm a pretty good shot, too."

"But not as good as me."

"If it's gotta be done, it's gotta be done."

Her face was troubled. "I need to think about this."

"Take your time." I leaned back in my seat.

Placing the headset back over my ears to abate the noise, I folded the mic back out of the way, and closed my eyes.

-ooo-

_"You know," Lisa informed me lazily, "if you'd just slept with Kinsey back at the motel, he could be in on this, so all the subterfuge wouldn't be necessary. We could have stuck with plan A."_

_**I **_**told**_** you why I can't sleep with him, **__I reminded her._

_We were strolling along the Boardwalk, hand in hand. To our left was the Bay, but instead of the Protectorate base, my memory palace floated there instead. It was truly impressive, with several new levels added since I last saw it._

_"No, you told me why you __**won't**__ sleep with him," she corrected me. "There is nothing actually stopping you, except fear of the consequences of being caught."_

_**Which are pretty darn severe, for both of us,**__ I pointed out. __**I won't do that to him.**_

_"And if I told you that you were guaranteed to never be caught?" she suggested slyly._

_**Then I'd tell you to turn that same infallible analysis on getting the mission done,**__ I told her sourly. __**Because I know darn well that you can't model my actions, so I mess up your predictions each time I do absolutely anything significant**__._

_She wrinkled her nose at me. "That's just because you like making extra work for me," she pretended to complain. "If you'd just done what I'd said, there was a very good chance that right now he'd be helping cover for you, rather than making it necessary to run around in circles like this."_

_I shook my head. __**I don't want to go down that road unless and until it's absolutely necessary,**__ I told her. __**Until that time comes, we'll do it my way.**_

_We purchased ice creams from a vendor and kept walking. I had strawberry ripple, while Lisa got chocolate fudge. The flavour was spot-on; Lisa was definitely getting good at this._

_**So what happened to the dragons and the unicorns and the spaceships?**__ I asked casually. __**Haven't seen them in a little bit.**_

"_Action's all well and good," she noted, "but you've been getting too much excitement in the world outside your head. In here, I think you need some quiet time. Relaxation."_

_**Can't argue with that,**__ I agreed._

"_Mind you," she added with a grin, "that first night back with Andrea was pretty darn relaxing."_

_I coloured. __**I thought you weren't going to listen in on things like that?**_

"_It's not like I can go somewhere," she pointed out._

_**And I thought that sort of thing squicked you the hell out.**_

_She shrugged. "Eh, second hand isn't so bad."_

_I eyed her with suspicion. __**Wait a minute. Are you trying to get me to sleep with Kinsey so **_**you**_** can experience sleeping with Kinsey?**_

"_Um … no?" She did her best to look innocent, which made her look guilty as sin._

_I rolled my eyes. __**Right.**_

"_Well, on to other matters," she announced brightly. "I've lined up a time and place you can take out Crawler."_

_**He won't be too dangerous?**_

"_He won't have triggered yet."_

_I nodded.__** Well, let me know when and where. Do you have a line on Winter?**_

"_I will have soon."_

_**I really hate leaving the Nine alive for so long. Gladys could nail Jack with ease.**_

"_You know why we have to."_

_**Yeah. Doesn't make me any happier.**_

_She put her arm around my shoulder and squeezed, much like the first time we had gotten to know one another. "I hate to use a phrase like 'the greater good', but -"_

_I sighed. __**Yeah, I know.**_

_We stopped at a bench overlooking the ocean. Several magazines, or things that looked like thick comic books, were stacked in the middle of it. Lisa sat on one side of the stack, and I sat on the other. I prodded at them. __**What are these?**_

"_Not sure," she replied. "They popped up in the archives the other day. My power's presenting them like this. This is the first time I've had the chance to actually look at them."_

_I picked one up. __**Security?**_

"_With an exclamation mark, no less," Lisa observed. "Looks weird." She peered closer. "Wait a minute. On the cover – is that you?"_

_**Holy shit, it is too.**__ I opened it. __**A comic book?**_

"_No, a trade paperback," she informed me. "That's what they call a comic book with pretensions of literature."_

_**Right, right,**__ I muttered, leafing through the pages. __**Holy shit, this is about someone who comes to Brockton Bay … just to **_**help****_ me?_**

"_Oh god, you want to check this one out," Lisa told me, holding out another one. "This is awesome. First page, you beat the living shit out of Madison."_

_I swapped comics immediately. __**I want to read this.**_

_By the time I finished, and had stopped laughing, Lisa had started on one that was significantly thicker than the others; on the cover was some sort of multi-winged angel. __**That's not the Simurgh, is it?**_

"_Nope," she replied, still reading. "But they make that mistake in the story, too. Wow, this person's just too nice for her own good."_

_I looked at the stack of trade paperbacks. The author names meant nothing to me. __**Where did all this come from? How can anyone write all these stories?**_

_Lisa shrugged. "No idea. Not even sure where they came from. My power just presented them to me."_

_I looked at the titles. __**There's some by different authors. Goblin Queen … Clockwork … A Tale of Transmigration … Amelia … wow, some of this stuff's really bizarre.**_

_Lisa grinned at me. "Well, now I know what I'll be doing for reading material for a while."_

_I wrinkled my nose. __**Just don't let it give you ideas.**_

"_Oh, trust me," she assured me. "I don't need __**that**__ to give me ideas."_

_**Don't I know it.**__ I rolled my eyes._

_Thunder rolled across the sky; I flinched. __**What the fuck?**_

_Lisa grinned. "Ah; I think Gladys wants you to wake up."_

_**Oh, right. She took my headphones off. **__I stood up and stretched. __**Time to go kill a guy, I guess.**_

_She stood up as well. "Kiss before you go?"_

_I leaned in and kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood and chocolate fudge. The rising breeze whipped my hair across my eyes, and I blinked -_

-ooo-

\- and opened my eyes, looking at Gladys. As I did, the plane banked; I saw an expanse of water rising into view in the window behind her.

Fitting my headset back into place, I moved the mic into position. "We're coming in to land now?"

"_Yes, we are, ma'am,"_ the pilot replied. _"As I just said, we should be on the ground in five."_

I checked my watch. We appeared to be keeping to schedule. "Excellent. I'll let you get back to it, then."

"_Thank you, ma'am."_

Taking my headphones off, I leaned across to Gladys. "Enjoy the flight?"

"Not every day I get to fly into Canada," she replied, obviously trying to make the best of it. "Uh … Taylor?"

"Yeah?"

"Why the codenames?"

I shrugged. "Same reason capes use them. So no-one can identify us by word of mouth."

"No, I meant why those specific codenames. Shooter I can understand. But what's Weaver signify?"

I paused. "Uh … that's kind of a long story. Can I get back to you on that one?"

She nodded. "Sure. And as for the other thing you want me to do … "

I looked at her expectantly. "Yes?"

"I'll – I'll do it," she told me. "You've been right so far, and if you think this Vasil guy needs to – to die, then yeah, I can do it."

Reaching across, I squeezed her hand. "I really, truly appreciate it, Gladys. You have no idea how much."

"Besides," she told me dryly, "if _you_ tried to fire that thing, it'd break your shoulder."

I grinned. "Which is another reason why I really, truly appreciate it."

-ooo-

Upon leaving the plane, which had landed at another tiny, no-name airfield, we trotted across the tarmac toward what looked like an identical SUV, and two guys who were waving at us. One held a sign saying "W", while the other held a sign saying "S". Gladys carried the rifle case; I lugged the (much lighter) backpack with the pistols in it.

"Strike sent us," I told them as we came within earshot. "You know where to go?"

"Weaver and Shotgun, right?" asked one of the men.

"Shooter," Gladys corrected him, half a second before I would have done so myself. "I'm Shooter."

"Right, right," the other man agreed. "You can call me Moose." He took his right hand from behind his back, empty; I was willing to bet there was a gun holstered in the small of his back. We shook hands, then they opened up the SUV and we got in.

"So, can we know what this is all about?" asked Moose as we started off.

"Point A to point B," I told him, trying to sound bored. "We get the next part of our instructions when we get there. Air traffic control guys paid off?"

"Better," he grinned. "We've got a guy in the tower. He's writing this down as a standard charter flight."

I nodded. "Impressive. I'm beginning to wonder why I didn't sign up for this outfit earlier."

"You're not wrong," he agreed. "When I first heard about it, I thought it was too good to be true, but so far it's been minimal risk, good pay, and occasional work like this."

"Ain't broke, don't fix it, right?" I observed.

"Hell yes," Moose replied. "Got that right."

The rest of the ride passed in silence.

-ooo-

"Well, this is as far as we can take you, ladies," Moose told us, as the SUV crunched to a halt on the side of the road. "When do we pick you up?"

"Best bet, three hours," I told him. "But swing by in two and a half, and every quarter hour thereafter. Be ready to discourage pursuit, if necessary."

"Sounds good," he noted. "Here, let's get you geared up."

Climbing out of the SUV, he opened the rear compartment. "Camo jackets," he noted. "Spotter scope. Baseball caps."

Gladys and I both doffed our jackets, then I showed her how to put on the shoulder holster, before strapping on my own. Each rig had a holder for a spare mag, which we used to good effect.

Over these, we put on the camo jackets; they were a little bulky, at least on me, but they did the job. The baseball caps were also camo-patterned; I felt a little silly putting mine on, but Gladys looked at least three shades more badass when wearing hers, so I felt better after that.

I took the case for the spotter scope and slung it over my shoulder, while Moose stuffed our discarded jackets into the pack that had held the pistols. "I'll hold this for you?" he suggested.

"Good idea," I told him, and turned to Gladys. "Well, you ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she replied, slinging the rifle case – it had a carry strap – over her shoulder.

"Good." I turned back to Moose. "Go on," I told him. "Just don't forget to be back at the right time."

He nodded, closed the rear compartment, and got back into the vehicle. We heard the gearbox grind just a little, before it started off, crunching back on to the road. Gladys watched it go, then turned to me. "Now comes the route march?"

"Now comes the route march," I agreed, kneeling down and unstrapping the ankle holster. "Do not need this on my ankle every step of the way," I noted, stuffing it into one of my jacket pockets.

* * *

We headed off the road, along a pathway that was barely visible to the naked eye. I only knew it was there because Lisa had told me that it was. It wound through the trees, up and over small rises, and through the occasional narrow stream-bed.

"Where are we, anyway?" asked Gladys.

"A little way out of Montreal, actually," I told her. "It's where he's got his estate."

"How does he pay for stuff like an estate?"

I nodded to concede her point. "Well, he certainly doesn't pay rates. But as for money itself? He gets his love-slaves to go out and commit crimes for him."

She looked sick. "And if they get caught, they do the time."

"Yeah. This guy uses people as puppets. Worse. If you're caught by him, there is no way out. And you don't even _want_ to get out. You're devoted to his every wish, forever."

I heard her take a deep breath. "Well, you're certainly not convincing me _not_ to shoot him, that's for sure." She paused. "When he's dead … what happens to his slaves?"

I frowned. "Not sure. Hopefully it'll wear off, in time, and they'll be able to go back to having normal lives. After, you know, a metric ton of therapy." Which was basically what Lisa had told me. I hoped it was true, and not something she'd said just to keep me happy.

"So shooting him will be basically killing their Messiah," she mused. "And they'll hate us forever for it."

"But it's for their own good," I agreed. "Life's kind of sucky, that way."

"Is it always like this for you?" she asked. "Saving the world, and having no-one appreciate it?"

I snorted. "Something like that. But I know that you appreciate it, and so does everyone who actually knows what I'm doing."

"Oh, I do," she told me. "Just like I appreciate you getting me away from Blackwell like that."

"Yeah, well, you and I both know she was just trying to rope you in to do the extra work for her," I noted. "Has she done that much before?"

"Once or twice," she admitted. Which I translated in my head as 'quite a few times'. "But not any more. She can't pull that 'seniority' crap on me any more."

"Good for you," I told her. "And if you can get that vice principal position … "

"She'll never be able to hold it over me again," she agreed. "Actually, talking about that … "

"Yeah?" I asked.

"Carrie Blackwell was the principal when you were at Winslow, your first time around, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

She paused before asking her next question. "I was there too, wasn't I?"

"Yeah, you were," I told her. "Computers. I was in your home room."

She blinked. "... oh. Wow."

"Yeah." I grinned at her. "I've always liked computers."

"Don't I know it," she replied, with an answering grin, then her expression turned serious. "Uh … what sort of teacher was I?"

"Well, you were my favourite teacher at Winslow," I told her honestly. "You just gave us work and left us to it. As opposed to Mr Gladly, who would get us together into class projects, which opened me up to bullying, and then did nothing about it when it happened."

She blinked. "Oh. Right. Well, I'm glad." A pause. "Did you befriend me because of who I was – am – will be?"

I shook my head. "I stepped in to help because you needed it. I don't like bullies. I liked you before I ever knew who you were."

She smiled, pleased. "That's … really good to hear. And … Franklin?"

"You married him anyway," I assured her. "It just took a few more years."

She stopped and looked at me. "Well, before we go any farther," she told me, "I just want to say something."

I stopped, also. "Yeah?"

"You're a good friend, Taylor. And apart from what you're doing to save the world, I appreciate what you've done to help me, personally. It was because of you that I went to ROTC, and got the confidence to do what I'm doing. It's because of you that I'm with Franklin now. So … thank you."

She enfolded me in a hug, and I could do nothing but hug her back. I felt moisture in my eyes, and I caught her in a sniffle as well, as we disengaged.

"Well," I told her, and cleared my throat. "Now that the touchy-feely bit is over, shall we go and kill some bastard?"

She bared her teeth in what might have been a smile. "Let's."

* * *

End of Part 4-3


	23. Chapter 23

\o/

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 4-4: To Kill a Mockingbird

* * *

Gladys and I had been dropped off somewhat outside Heartbreaker's estate, which meant that we had a bit of ground to cover. There were two perimeters to penetrate; the first consisted of the forces of law and order, and the second was made up of Vasil's private army of security personnel.

The RCMP maintained a perimeter watch on the estate, because although they couldn't go in and get the man, they could do their best to watch any comings and goings, and try to prevent people from entering the area. Unfortunately for this aim, there were several roads in and out, and many smaller tracks, and the manpower they had assigned to the situation just couldn't be everywhere at once.

Lisa had explained to me that they currently had him down as a 'cult leader'; his parahuman powers were suspected but not known for certain. This put him, legally, into a grey area, which he exploited to the fullest. The PRT, which may have assisted in cutting the Gordian knot, didn't have jurisdiction in Canada, and the Protectorate was still working to cover the continental United States. Canada's homegrown parahuman team, the Guild, was still finding its legs, and the lack of absolute proof of parahuman activity was tying their hands in any case. After all, non-parahuman cult leaders had done this, and more, before now.

Even worse, the mere suspicion that his victims were being Mastered was enough to force the Mounties to keep their hands off; if it were true (which it was) then even the security personnel were innocent victims, quite literally under his control. If Heartbreaker's people left the compound and committed crimes under his orders, they were arrested and imprisoned to keep them from returning to the fold, but they also were also given therapy to try to break the grip that he held over them. Results from that were still pending.

Those of his followers who left on other errands could be detained and questioned, but if they were not wanted for specific criminal acts, they could not be held for any length of time. Complicating this (Lisa had told me) was the fact that there were law enforcement officers within both the RCMP and local police who were under Vasil's control; doing their jobs, but also reporting back to him.

Of course this was all immaterial to me. What mattered was that, over the next few years, my reputation as a high-end PRT analyst would spread, and Heartbreaker would decide that I needed to belong to him.

I was aiming to make sure that this never happened, by the simplest and most direct method possible. Kill him before he ever heard of me.

-ooo-

We heard the helicopter approaching before it came into sight, and I drew Gladys into the cover of a thick clump of bushes.

"Why are we hiding?" she asked, even as she crouched beside me. "Don't tell me he's got choppers too."

"Not as far as I know," I told her. "But the Mounties do, and they patrol his boundary. If we're seen, we'll be stopped and questioned." I nodded at the rifle case that she'd laid on the ground. "And as much as they might personally agree with what we're about to do, their rules won't allow them to let it happen. We'd be taken into custody and questioned. If we're lucky, we'd simply be deported."

The helicopter blades racketed closer, and I stopped talking; we both hunkered down, eyes to the ground, resisting the urge to look up at the oncoming aircraft.

They were flying low; I felt the vibration as much as heard the sound as the chopper went almost right over the top of us. The dirt underfoot shivered; small twigs and litter drifted down from the leaves all around us as the thunderous _**whup whup whup**_ passed overhead. I waited for it to stop or circle around, but it didn't; the helicopter just kept on going. As it passed over the next hill, the sound of the rotors dropped away dramatically.

"You mean, _I'd_ be deported," she told me. _"You'd_ be handed back over to the PRT and questioned some more by your own side. And probably kicked out."

"Or put under much more severe oversight," I agreed. "I do not want to go there."

She nodded to me. "So let's not." Picking up the rifle case and slinging it over her shoulder, she nodded to me. "Shall we get along?"

I shrugged the spotter scope case back on to my shoulder. "Let's go."

* * *

About a mile farther on, I slowed to a halt. Ahead of us lay a simple road; nothing more or less than a pair of wheeltracks, going from left to right. I pointed at it, and kept my voice down when I spoke. "See that?"

"It's a dirt track." Gladys' voice was as quiet as mine. "It's important?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Other side of that is Heartbreaker's estate. We step on to that land, we're in enemy territory, in every sense of the word. If they even _suspect_ we're on their land, they'll stop at nothing to find us and capture us. If we're caught, the _best_ thing that's going to happen is that they kill us." I lowered my sunglasses and looked her in the eye. "Last chance to back out."

I had to give her credit; she didn't hesitate for more than half a second before she shook her head. "Hell with that, Taylor. I've come this far."

It would have been insulting to let out a sigh of relief, so I didn't. Instead, I clasped her forearm; she did the same with me. We shared a slight smile; the old team, together again. I nodded to her. "Okay, let's do this."

Taking off her cap, she settled her hair more securely under it, and pulled it down firmly. "Let's go kick some ass."

* * *

From there on in, we moved a lot more circumspectly. Far from simply tramping along a barely-visible path through the forest, we went from cover to cover. Each of us watched the other's back; our hands were on the pistols more often than not.

I had done quite a bit of this in Boot, but that had been merely putting the finishing touches on what we'd learned in JROTC and ROTC. The college-level military training had done Gladys the world of good; it had given her confidence in her own abilities, helped her develop her physical capabilities, and she had picked up a useful set of skills in the process.

From the point of view of someone who had gone through Boot, I could see where she was lacking, but that was more a matter of scale rather than incompetence. She obviously hadn't had much in the way of practice since college; but then, since leaving Boot, I hadn't done much tramping through the mud either. However, it was coming back to the both of us.

* * *

Even so, we nearly walked straight into the first patrol of Heartbreaker's men that we encountered. I was in the lead, making for a patch of cover, and I heard a twig crack from up ahead; frantically, I dropped and rolled under a low bush. Gladys had not been far behind me, and I devoutly hoped that she had gotten the message.

Mere seconds later, four sets of boots tramped by my impromptu hiding place; I lay there cradling the spotter scope, as they stopped a short distance away. Two of them unzipped and I heard urine hitting the leaf litter; thankfully, nowhere near me. Then I heard the sound of cigarette lighters clicking, and smelt tobacco smoke.

_Fuck, they've stopped for a break, right where we are._ This was unbelievable. Why couldn't Heartbreaker be more stringent in his instructions to his men? Their very laxity might actually save his life; if it wasn't so very irritating, it might even be funny.

I wasn't so much worried about myself; I had my hand on my pistol, and figured I could get at least three out of the four before they reacted. Gladys was good enough to get the last one, but I was concerned that she might choke, might freeze, given real combat after so long out of training. Worse, if it came to shooting, that would almost certainly draw attention, and we did not need that.

I was just beginning to regret not having requested suppressors for the pistols when there was a faint crackle; they had, as I had suspected, radios.

"Patrol four, moving along," murmured one of them, and they moved off, boots crunching on the leaf litter.

I waited as long as I dared, then rolled out of cover. In the same movement, I went up on to one knee, Glock out and tracking in a half-circle. But there was no trick, no ambush. No assault rifles pointing back at me.

"Gladys?" I called softly.

"Taylor?" I heard in return; to my astonishment, it came from above. I looked up, to see my partner in crime lowering herself from a tree, rifle case still slung over her shoulder.

"Seriously, how the hell did you get up there?" I asked, as her boots landed on the ground.

She shook her head. "I have absolutely no idea. All I can say is, I'd like to find that son of a bitch who put us through all those climbing drills in ROTC and give him a big wet kiss."

"You and me both," I marvelled, looking up at the tree. "I am seriously impressed." I took a breath and checked my watch. "Fuck. We're getting close to time. We have to move."

"What, we're actually on a _schedule_ for this?" she asked as we set off again.

I nodded. "Yeah. We get exactly one chance to pop him today, and still get back to the lake before Kinsey raises the alarm. After that, I have no idea when and how we can get back out here without causing suspicion."

She frowned. "Taylor, where exactly are you getting this information from? Because it sounds pretty damn specific to me."

"It _is_ pretty damn specific," I agreed. "But I can't tell you. Operational security."

"But Andrea knows, doesn't she?" She looked hard at me, observed my total lack of reaction. "I was right. She knows."

I took a deep breath. "Can we do this later, please?"

Gladys shook her head. "I just have trouble getting over the idea that you're telling Andrea more than me about what you're doing, just because you're sleeping with her." The hurt in her voice was plain to hear.

_Fuck. I have to nip this in the bud, right now. _I stopped and turned to face her. "Okay, you want to do this now? We can do this now. Andrea's in on the stuff that you aren't because I need _someone_ to be. If I didn't, she wouldn't know anywhere near what she does, girlfriend or no. Also, because I need someone to do what she's doing. If anyone knew what she was doing for me, it could get very dangerous for her. So it's me and it's her who know what she's doing. No-one else." _Except you._

She frowned. "So what's she doing for you that's so dangerous?"

I waited, not speaking, for her to work it out. It didn't take her long; Gladys was never a stupid person. Just very, very stubborn.

I saw her face change as she realised. "Holy shit," she gasped. "The _mercenaries?"_

Slowly, once, I nodded. "And more, but yes."

"Holy fuck," she muttered. "I would never, not ever, believe that of her."

"And that's why it's her and not you," I assured her. "Because _no-one_ would believe that of her. Whereas _you_ … " I tilted my hand back and forth. "Maybe, yeah."

Pleased despite herself, she snorted in amusement. "Okay, fine, you've convinced me. She's the best person for the job. Not that I'd really want it."

"Good," I stated. "Now, we have to get going, or we're going to be behind the curve, really soon."

She nodded. "Gotcha."

We moved off again.

* * *

As we got closer to our destination, the patrols got thicker on the ground. However, paradoxically, avoiding them became easier. Further out, they could pick and choose their path through the forest, and could avoid making a beaten track. Closer in, there was less room to move in, so the paths existed, and we could ensure that we didn't linger too long near them.

Even easier was the second ring-road that we found; we heard a vehicle approaching, but we were across the road and well into cover before it ground into sight, rolling along in low gear. Gladys and I crouched in the shrubbery and watched it go past; we both noted that the driver and the passengers were looking outward, not in.

"Good thing we crossed over," she murmured to me. "I think that one guy's using infrared gear."

I nodded fractionally. "Yes, he is."

She paused for a long moment. "You know something? I'm not even going to ask how you knew that."

"PRT Intelligence," I replied with a grin. "We're good for something."

A snort. "Yeah. Right."

The vehicle ground out of sight; I nudged her shoulder. "Let's go."

-ooo-

_Jeanette Dubois was a native of Quebec. Young, pretty, in her twenties, she had been an up and coming lead on a local soap opera. Her agent had been full of praise for her talents; he'd been angling to get her into the national circuit._

_This had all changed the day she met Nikos._

_She had been out on an errand when he stepped in front of her and introduced himself. Within seconds, she had been captivated by the man; within minutes, she had agreed to come away with him._

_She had never questioned the impulse that had led her to sell her most prized possessions, to drain her once-thriving bank account, to throw over her boyfriend, all for Nikos. She had been happiest when in his presence, in his arms. Once, her ambition had been to see her name in lights. Now, it was merely to make Nikos happy._

_Rene had tracked her down; despite all the police, all the Mounties could do, he had come to the compound and pleaded with her to come back with him. Nikos had turned to her, where she stood barefoot and wearing a simple shift, and asked her what she wanted. "You can go, if you want," he had told her. "I will return all your money, all your worldly goods to you. Go, with my blessing."_

_But she loved him, and she knew that he wanted her to stay, that he was merely testing her. She had opted to stay, had told Rene that she never wanted to see him again._

_The last she had seen of her boyfriend was as he was marched off by Nikos' security men, to be escorted from the property._

_It was a little sad, she supposed, but Rene would get over her. After all, there was no-one but Nikos in her eyes now, so there was no point in doing anything else._

_Carefully, she laid Cherie down in her crib, so as not to wake the sleeping infant. It had taken assiduous exercise and diet on her part to get back down to her original weight after having Cherie, but it was worth it. She tiptoed into the bedroom, and slipped out of the light shift, leaving her naked in the semi-darkness._

_Despite her care, she heard him stir and wake. "Who is it?"_

"_It is only me, beloved," she told him, crawling on to the bed in her most seductive fashion. "And I have a little surprise for you."_

_He took her in his arms, and she surrendered to his love._

-ooo-

"Well, here we are."

Gladys looked around. "Where?"

I pointed. "Those two hills? The compound is just the other side of them. You'll be taking your shot from between them."

She glanced up at the two hills; they wouldn't measure up to Captain's Hill, back in Brockton Bay, but they were of a reasonable height. "Why not from on top?"

"Because he's got men encamped up there, just in case someone tries exactly that," I explained. "In between is still higher than the surrounding terrain, and there's a line of sight into the compound."

"So wait," she interrupted. "I'll be taking my shot from _between_ two hostile forces?"

I nodded. "There's no other way."

She stared at me. "You're fucking nuts."

"It's that important," I stated flatly. "If I left him be, in a couple years, he'd come after me. The PRT's keeping things quiet about me, but word's starting to get out anyway. I'd be a prize for him. And if he gets close enough to me, I won't be able to resist. Hence, we take him out _now."_

She grimaced. "And our chances of survival once I take the shot?"

I shot her a grin which bore no humour whatsoever. "Let's just say, it'll be a good opportunity to brush up on those escape and evasion tactics."

"Fuckin' _wonderful." _She slid the rifle case from her shoulder and cradled it in her arms. "Okay, let's do this thing. And then, let's never call on me for anything, ever again."

"Deal," I agreed. "Of course, on the upside, if I get killed here, I don't have to worry about Careers Day. Win-win."

She gave me a dirty look; I chuckled, and led off.

-ooo-

"_Mmmmm."_

_Jeanette lay back as Nikos rolled off of her, and stretched like a cat. "That was wonderful, mon cheri."_

_He snorted to himself. __**Of course it was wonderful. I could be the worst lover in the world, and they would still say it was wonderful.**_

_She seemed to want to cuddle; he shook her off and sat up on the edge of the bed. "You say your period was just two weeks ago?"_

_She lifted herself up on one elbow and smiled. "Oui, mon cheri. I am always regular like the clock." She patted her belly. "My little Cherie was made at this same time. You have perhaps put a son in me?"_

"_A son would be good, yes," he agreed. Sons to carry on the Vasil line. Turning, he kissed her perfunctorily. She had gotten him one girl child, and was possibly pregnant once more; she deserved the reward. The surge of power he gave her at the same time put her on her back, smiling in bliss as she gazed dreamily at the ceiling._

_He stood and pulled on his pants, then shrugged a shirt on over his lanky shoulders. He would keep Jeanette coming back to his bed occasionally, but he had recently acquired a new girl, an eighteen year old truck stop waitress called Nicole. As with all of his girls, she was anxious to show him what she could do for him._

_**Tonight, I shall give her the chance.**_

_But right now, he was in a better mood than normal. Jeannette had birthed a strong baby in Cherie, and if she was pregnant again, the chances were that she would once more add to his brood. And if it were a son …_

-ooo-

The hollow in between the hills was densely wooded. Gladys and I pushed our way through it, doing our best to keep quiet.

"There's no sight lines," she complained. "I don't even know which way this damned compound is."

She had a point; if we went any farther downslope, we risked losing crucial elevation. I glanced at my watch. Twelve minutes till go time. We were getting down to the wire.

"Trust me," I replied. "I'm just going to have to take a minute."

Settling down with my back to a tree, I closed my eyes and prepared to drift off.

"Wait, what?" she hissed. "You're doing that _here? Now?" _She paused. "Anyway, I thought you needed music."

"Not any more," I murmured. _Eleven minutes thirty._ "Hush, please."

Drawing a deep breath, I let it out slowly. _In, out._ Relaxing my body, relaxing my mind.

I drifted.

-ooo-

_I was standing on the Boardwalk, leaning on the back of one of the bench seats, looking out at my memory palace. Lisa lay back on the bench in front of me, her head up on one of the armrests. She was giggling sporadically, apparently highly amused by the trade paperback that she was reading. The image on the back of the publication was, bizarrely, a large playing card with my face in the centre._

_"Oh, hey," she greeted me, looking up. "Pushed for time?"_

_I nodded. __**Yeah. We can't find the sight line.**_

_"Ah. Right." There was a tablet resting on her stomach; she picked it up and held it up toward me. The glow of the screen intensified, before it became a holographic image, projected above the device. It showed the area we were in, with the trees rendered in a translucent format; I saw myself and I saw Gladys ... and I saw where a sight line could be had. There was more information, which I assessed and memorised, but right now the sight line was what we needed._

_**Excellent!**__ I leaned over the back of the bench and kissed her; her lips tasted of dust and blood and, for some reason, caramel sundae. __**Love to stay and chat, but -**_

-ooo-

"- gotta go!"

Gladys started as my eyes flicked open. "Gotta go? What? Who were you talking to?"

I shook my head as I came to my feet. "Can't talk. No time. Sight line … this way."

With Gladys right behind me, I pushed through a stand of younger trees, trying not to make too much noise in the process. Abruptly, we entered a small, cramped clearing. Here, some time ago, one of the larger trees had fallen. It had fallen outward, taking some of its unlucky siblings with it … and incidentally, clearing the sight line toward the compound.

"We walked past this bit three times," Gladys groused as she laid the rifle case down and opened it. "How did you even know it was here?"

"Not the time for this discussion, Gladys," I replied absently, extracting the spotter scope from its case. "We have … seven minutes to get set up and ready."

This was not as easy as it sounded. There was no clear ground, and no time to clear it. With a couple of false starts, Gladys lay down along the tree trunk itself – not the most comfortable of resting places, but the best we could manage – while I held the rifle. Once she was settled, I set the rifle down in front of her, breaking off a couple of small branches that got in the way. The bipod unfolded, I wedged the feet into niches in the bark. Hopefully, the tree would not move when she fired the damn weapon.

She snuggled the butt into her shoulder, laid her cheek on the rubberised section, and let her eye fall into line with the scope. I busied myself with getting the spotter scope out of its own case, and lining it up with the compound. There was no place for me to rest it, unless I literally placed it on top of Gladys, and me with it, but I could hold it in my hands for a few minutes while I leaned against the tree trunk to steady myself. A few minutes was all we had, anyway.

"Got a sight picture," she murmured. "Compound. Rectangle with empty courtyard in the middle. Vehicles off to the side. Guards inside and outside compound. Range?"

I steadied my spotter scope as the information rose into my consciousness. _Thank you, Lisa._ "Range is six thousand four hundred feet," I replied, just as quietly. "Elevation three hundred fifty feet. Bullet will drop almost exactly five hundred inches. Aimpoint is three inches to the left of the crosshairs." _Strike screwed up the zeroing, or maybe there's a breeze out there today._

"Flight time?"

"One point six one seconds."

"For that range?" she queried. _"That's_ not right."

"High-powered Tinker-tech ammo." Taking my eyes from the scope for just a second, I glanced at my watch, then brought the scope up again. "Twenty seconds till go time. He'll walk into the courtyard from the left. Tall, lanky guy, wearing jeans and an open shirt."

I breathed in, then exhaled, letting myself relax, become one with the spotter scope. I could not get the jitters, or I might lose the whole sight picture. "Ten seconds."

I couldn't look at Gladys; my entire focus was on the image of the compound, quivering ever so slightly. I didn't even want to move, in case I shook the tree and joggled her sight picture.

"Five seconds."

Gladys exhaled; I felt it rather than heard it, her entire body going limp, relaxing, except for her finger on the trigger. Just brushing it, stroking it. Keeping a tactile contact.

"Now."

And then Heartbreaker walked into view.

-ooo-

_He pushed open the door and walked out into the morning sunlight. His guards, all loyal to a fault, were spread around the interior of the compound. He knew without a doubt that there were more outside; each time someone probed his defenses, he got more guards, all loyal, all carrying information about their previous employers' plans._

_He nodded to the nearest guard. The man's name escaped him; it didn't matter. The man would not be offended. He wouldn't be offended if Nikos spat in his face._

"_It appears that I might be a father again," he observed, letting the sunlight fall on his face. "Perhaps even a boy."_

"_Sons are good, sir," the guard replied, never ceasing his vigilance._

"_Indeed," Nikos agreed, and turned to go back inside -_

-ooo-

"Target?"

"Target," I agreed.

Gladys's shoulders made those infinitesimal movements that indicated that she was placing the crosshairs where they needed to be. Without urgency, I murmured, "Moving in eight … seven … six … five … four … three ..."

She fired on 'two'. The report of the rifle was deafening; we were now living very much on borrowed time.

-ooo-

_Thunder smote Nikos' ears; a hammer-blow struck him across the shoulder and slammed him to the ground. He lay there, winded, wondering what had just happened._

"_Sir!" shouted the guard. "Are you all right?"_

"_I … yes," he replied muzzily. "What ..."_

"_Sniper!" the guard exclaimed, pointing at the verandah support farther down; it had been struck by something and nearly torn asunder, spraying a mass of splinters everywhere. He bent over Nikos. "Sir, we have to get you inside, now!"_

_Dazedly, he felt himself being lifted; the guard kept his body, with the Kevlar armour, between himself and the direction of the sniper. They began to move toward the door, even as the other guards began to run in their direction._

-ooo-

We both saw Vasil tumble to the ground, saw the guard leap toward him.

"Target down!" Gladys exulted.

"No!" I snapped. "No blood! That's a miss!"

"But he's _down!"_ she insisted. The guard was at his side, lifting him, obscuring our view.

"Shockwave," I explained succinctly. "You came close, but didn't hit. Breeze must have kicked up. Hit him again before he gets inside!"

"Fuck!" she snapped. "Can't get a clear shot!"

"Shoot through the guard," I retorted.

"He's an _innocent!"_

"It doesn't _matter!"_

"It does to me!"

"Gladys, _just fucking shoot him!"_

She fired. Again, the tremendous report rang in our ears.

I saw the hole appear in the guard's back, and they both went down. This time, there was a gratifyingly huge spray of blood across the verandah behind them. Vasil's body was almost hidden under the guard's. I searched for movement, couldn't see any. The other guards were getting close.

"Don't know if I got a kill shot." Gladys' voice was subdued.

"Left leg," I snapped. "Shoot him in the thigh." It was the only part of him that we could see properly. "Even if you don't get the femoral artery, hydrostatic shock should do the job."

She didn't argue; barely half a second later, she fired again. I saw Vasil's left thigh dissolve in an explosion of gore. Unless they had a top-flight trauma team right there at the compound – and even if they did – Nikos Vasil was a dead man.

I released a long sigh. "Good. Now the vehicles."

She didn't need any more prompting. In any case, Vasil's body was now invisible behind the crowd of guards. One after another, she sent rounds through the engine blocks of the assembled vehicles. The Barrett clicked dry before she got them all.

"I'm out," she reported, her voice sounding thin and quiet after the racketing thunder of the fifty calibre rifle.

"That's fine; we're done here," I told her. "We only have a few minutes before company arrives. Put your rifle in the case but do not close the case." As I spoke, I was packing the scope away in its own case.

"These will slow us down," she objected, clearly torn; the Barrett was a beautiful rifle in its own right.

"No, they won't," I told her. "We're leaving them behind." Pulling up some of the rubber padding in the scope case, I revealed a metal tab, which I pulled. Carefully closing the case, I clicked the latches shut. "Bottom left hand corner. Do what I just did."

Wonderingly, she peeled up the padding, pulled the tab, then latched the case shut. "What's that do?"

"Makes it into a bomb. Don't touch it, don't even move it now. We've got to get going."

"Yeah," she retorted, some of her snarkiness reviving. "No shit."

-ooo-

Gladys and I crashed through the wooded area, ignoring minor concepts such as stealth. At this moment, staying quiet and moving carefully would do us no good at all, and would just delay us long enough for the vengeful guards to catch up with us. And even if Vasil was dead – and I sincerely hoped that he was – if the guards caught us, death really would be the better option.

"Why – going – this – way?" panted Gladys, keeping up with me. The question was a good one; instead of heading directly downslope, away from the two hills, I was leading her at an angle, across to the left.

"Guys on this side -" I replied, " - coming down to check - the shooting site. Other side - trying to cut us off. Going between."

"How the _hell_ -" she began, before shaking her head. " - forget it."

A shot sounded from behind, followed by several more. Most went wide, but something whipped between us with a sound like an angry bee. We closed our mouths and concentrated on running.

Now that we had been seen, I curved back around so that we could retrace our inbound tracks. Finesse was out the window unless and until we could break contact with these bozos. Right now, our best ally was the ability to run like hell.

Fortunately, both Gladys and I were good at that.

* * *

It's amazing how fast ground can be covered when stealth is not an issue. Where we had spent the best part of half and hour gradually working our way up to the hollow between the hills, we covered the same ground going downhill in less than ten minutes. Part of it was due to the fact that we were actually going downhill, but most of it was due to the even more pressing fact that there were a lot of very angry people chasing us.

A loud explosion reached us, or perhaps two in very quick succession; a welcome sound, as it meant that there were _fewer_ people after us than before.

Once we reached the flatter ground, we slowed down a little as we dodged through the trees. I wasn't worried about our specific path; if we kept heading away from the hills, we'd leave Heartbreaker's domain soon enough.

Of course, there was no guarantee that they'd stop chasing us once we got out of the area, if we didn't lose them beforehand. In fact, I was fairly sure that they'd keep pursuing us to the ends of the earth, if that was what it took.

"Ambush, maybe?" panted Gladys, proving that she was thinking along the same lines that I was. "Slow 'em down?"

"Won't work," I replied. "Won't scare 'em." They would pour themselves into any ambush zone, I meant, swamp us with bodies. Their lives didn't matter to them, so long as they got us in the process.

"That devoted?" she asked. _To Heartbreaker,_ she meant.

"That devoted," I confirmed. "More. Willing to die."

"Shit."

"Yeah." Fighting people like that was _scary._ They couldn't be reasoned with, couldn't be intimidated, couldn't be scared off. It was why Masters were seen with such suspicion and dislike. Why Canary had been Birdcaged. Why I had packed Valefor's eyeballs with maggots. I had been sending a message. _Don't try this shit in Brockton Bay._

* * *

We kept going, still running well, but pacing ourselves now. The pursuit behind had slowed a little, but it was more spread out now; others had joined the group. We couldn't duck to the side and evade them that way. The occasional shout, and the occasional shot, could still be heard, but no more bullets came as close as before.

And then, ahead, we heard the sounds of four-wheel-drive vehicles. Not driving along the ring-road, but crashing through the trees. They had circled around, using the road to outdistance us, and were now moving in, flushing us back toward those following. They were horribly close; through a thin spot in the trees, I saw a dark shape moving, the reflection of a windshield.

"Fuck," I muttered, and turned sharply to the left. Gladys turned with me, then let out a sharp cry of pain. I turned, and she was down, clutching her ankle.

"Fuck!" I repeated, quite a bit louder. "Shit, Gladys, are you all right?"

She wasn't; that was obvious. I helped her to her feet, but she only managed to take a couple of steps before her leg gave out again.

With her leaning on me, I glanced one way, where the oncoming men were vaguely audible, but not yet visible, and then the other, where the off-road vehicle was chuntering its way toward us through the undergrowth.

We had trained for this sort of thing; I could carry Gladys for a short way, but not fast, and not easily. There were no convenient streambeds with overhangs that I could stash her in while I led the pursuit away. My gaze flickered back and forth while I thought, calculated, ran plans in my head.

Gladys was still on my wavelength. "You'll have to leave me," she gritted against the pain in her ankle.

I shook my head. "Not leaving you to them. Not ever."

"Then shoot me and leave me," she insisted. "But do it fast, or you won't get away either."

I stared at her. This was _Gladys_ saying this. "Not killing you," I muttered. "Franklin would never forgive me." I would never forgive myself.

My eyes were still searching for a way out; there was a tree just a few paces away. "Can you climb?" She had hidden in a tree once before.

"I can try." We tried, with me boosting her. The pursuit was getting terrifyingly close.

"Ah!" she cried out, collapsing at the base of the tree; her ankle had betrayed her again.

They were too close now; even if I ran, on my own, I wouldn't make it.

"_Fuck,"_ I muttered, and shinned up the tree myself.

* * *

The four-by-four ground on to the scene just moments later; Gladys was making a determined effort to get away anyway, but she had only gone a few yards from the tree. Men jumped down from the bed of the vehicle; she pulled the pistol from the shoulder holster, but one man struck her across the face, and she dropped it. She dropped him, too, a moment later, with a right cross, but two more were on her, and her arms were dragged behind her back. A third stepped up and slammed a fist into her solar plexus; she doubled over.

I saw all this from my concealment in the higher branches. They hadn't seen me when they drove up, and they didn't see me now, all caught up in the excitement of catching one of the assassins. They didn't hear me when I climbed down a few branches, and they didn't see me dropping into the bed of the truck.

As I dropped, I had the borrowed Glock in my left and, and my 26 in my right. Firing two-handed is not a trick conducive to accurate shooting, but I had enough range time to not particularly care.

There were still two men in the back of the truck; I dropped them both with head shots from my left hand gun, at barely a yard of range. My right hand gun was tracking on the men holding Gladys; I gave them just enough time to realise what was happening, before I shot all three of them, head shots all. The man on the ground was reaching for his own gun, so I shot him a moment later.

There were two men in the front; the one in the passenger seat was just opening the door when I shot him in the back of the head with my pocket pistol. At the same time, I treated the driver the same way, through the rear window of the truck, with my personal weapon. As he died, the vehicle jolted forward and stalled.

Vaulting down from the bed of the truck, I opened the driver's side door and hauled the dead man out. Throwing my pistols on to the seat of the truck, I climbed in; Gladys was already on her feet and hobbling for the passenger side door. I got the engine running again, just as she hauled herself into the seat.

She barely had the door closed when I rammed the vehicle into gear and, leaning out the window, due to the windshield being covered in brains, pulled a hard one-eighty and started getting us the hell out of there.

"You okay?" I asked as we bucketed through the rough terrain.

"Nosebleed," she replied almost casually. "Had worse. Had worse from _you."_

"Hah, kitten scratch then," I replied with a grin; she'd once compared my punches to a kitten batting at her face.

"Some kitty-cat," she responded. "Fuck, Taylor, I never knew you could shoot like that."

"I've kept in practise," I told her. "And sorry for abandoning you like that, but it was the only way I could think of to get us both out of it alive."

"Well, it's working so far," she agreed. "Touch wood."

At that moment, I swung too close to a tree on her side, and lost the rear-view mirror.

"Well, I didn't mean it like _that,"_ she protested.

"Sorry," I responded. "Oh, shit, hang on!"

I had just seen another four-by-four roaring toward us, aiming to T-bone us from the left. I rammed my foot down on the accelerator and gave it all the power it had. This did not improve the ride at all; the only reason I stayed in my seat was due to my death-grip on the steering wheel, and Gladys was having to brace herself against the ceiling of the cab.

The other truck hit us a glancing blow, sending us up on two wheels momentarily, but then we crashed down again and stayed the course. We didn't seem to have suffered from the impact, but the other vehicle fell in behind us; a bullet smashed through the rear window and out through the windshield, making two holes in total.

"Smash that out!" I yelled to Gladys; driving was hard enough without having a direct line of sight ahead. And right now, sticking my head out the window was inviting someone to blow it off.

_"_Gotcha!" she replied; bracing herself as best she could with her arms, she reared back and drove the heel of her boot against the nearest bullet-hole. The windshield shattered and starred in a crazy network of cracks, but it held together and stayed in place. She did it again, this time forcing part of it from its seals. The third time was the charm; her kick dislodged it altogether, sending it forward on to the hood of the truck, from where it slid off on to the ground.

This freed up a lot of my attention for driving, rather than just avoiding obstacles; I swerved around a tree that would have stopped us dead (in every sense of the word) and accelerated dramatically. The inrush of wind through the front of the vehicle was no great problem, though the small branches that occasionally whipped in through the opening were an irritation; soon, Gladys and I were both covered in twigs and leaves.

"Where are we?" I yelled.

"You're asking _me?"_ Gladys yelled back.

"We should've crossed the outer perimeter by now!"

"I thought you were the one with all the answers!"

There was a loud _bang_ and we both instinctively ducked; a large ragged hole had appeared in the roof of the truck cab.

"Still back there!" she reminded me, mostly unnecessarily.

"I know! Crap!" Through the trees ahead appeared a pair of wheel-tracks; I stamped on the brakes and spun the wheel. Tires drifting and shrieking, throwing up an even larger cloud of dust than normal, I got us on to the road, such as it was.

"Why are you saying 'crap'?" she asked, as I went up through the gears in record time. "And why are you going along the road? Shouldn't we be crossing it?"

"Because it's the _inner_ road," I told her. "Take the wheel."

"What - why -"

But I wasn't listening. Grabbing up the Glock 26 - the larger one had bounced down into the footwell - I grabbed the door frame and hauled myself partly out the window with my left hand, twisting around as I did so, to face back along the road. My foot was hard on the accelerator, and the engine roared loud in my ears; I'd be lucky not to get some hearing loss out of this episode.

The pursuing vehicle came into view, almost ghostly in the cloud of dust we were throwing up. I pointed my right arm back toward them, my attention on the front sight of the pistol. We hit a bump; I nearly lost my grip on the door frame, and my foot slipped off the accelerator; immediately, we began to slow. The vehicle behind came closer, and more shots began to whistle past us. My sight picture firmed up, and I fired six times in rapid succession, before the little pistol ran dry. Two in the front left tire, two in the front right tire, and two through the windshield, right about where the driver should be.

The vehicle swerved dramatically, then turned side on and began to roll over and over. I realised to my horror that it was going to catch us, as we were still slowing down. Pulling myself back into my seat, I grabbed the wheel off of Gladys, dropped the Glock on the seat, and applied acceleration once more. Something hit the back end with a resounding _clang_, but then we were pulling away from the ongoing car wreck.

As soon as I could, I turned us off the road again, and headed outbound. So long as we headed straight and didn't stop for anything, I figured, we'd get off the estate eventually.

* * *

"So tell me something, Taylor."

I looked over at Gladys, as she hobbled along, with a roughly-trimmed length of wood to act as a crutch. The four-by-four had given out a hundred yards from the highway - apparently some of the shots that had hit the rear end had damaged something important - but there had been useful equipment on board, including a hatchet to cut the crutch, and a first-aid kit with which to bind her ankle. "What's on your mind?"

She paused to adjust her grip on the crutch, and took a look up and down the highway. Then she looked back at me. "You had the sneaking-in bit all planned out."

"Yeah, I did."

"And you knew there was a place we could snipe from. Even though you'd never been there before."

"That's correct."

"But your exit strategy basically boiled down to 'run like hell'."

I thought about it. "Broadly speaking, yes."

"What the hell, Taylor?" she shouted. "Seriously? What sort of half-assed strategy is that? Especially from someone whose job description is essentially 'save the world'?"

"It would have worked," I told her patiently. "We were well ahead of the guys chasing us. Bad luck happened, is all."

"That truck getting out ahead of us wasn't 'bad luck'," she retorted stubbornly.

"That truck came from the compound," I told her. "Both of them did. The ones on the patrol circuit, as it happened, were on the _far_ side of the compound when the alarm went off. They would never have responded in time."

There was a long pause, broken only by the birdsong around us, as she considered this. "Those were the two I didn't disable, because … "

"... because you used three bullets instead of one to kill Heartbreaker, yes," I agreed.

She frowned. "What if I'd still missed with the first, but gotten a clean kill with the second? We still would have been screwed."

"Not necessarily so," I responded. "One truck, not two. They would have had to cover a wider area; thus, a far worse chance of intercepting us."

She heaved a sigh. "Okay, fine. Say it. I nearly got us killed because I screwed up."

I shook my head. "Far from it. I wouldn't have been able to make that shot, not like you did. And even if I had, I would have had trouble nailing all those trucks, one after the other." I stood in front of her, forcing her to stop and meet my eyes. "And I screwed up too."

This time her frown was one of disbelief. "What, bringing me along?"

"Gladys." My voice was firm. "You're the _best shot_ I know. No-one else could have hit like that over such a range, with a rifle they'd never fired before. You made the mission _succeed._ No, bringing you along wasn't my screwup."

"So what was?" she asked.

"Not checking to see if the vehicles had GPS tracking _before_ that other truck came at us," I admitted. "Okay, sure, we found it after, but it would have saved us a lot of trouble if I'd checked."

Reluctantly, she nodded. "Yeah, I'll give you that."

"So I'm allowed to be a screwup too, okay?" I pressed.

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, you're allowed to be a screwup too."

"Good." I grinned. "Glad we got that settled." I shaded my eyes and peered into the distance. "And on that note, this looks like our lift coming now."

"One more thing, Taylor," Gladys stated as the vehicle drew closer. "Before we return to civilisation. Or what passes for it."

"What's that?" I asked.

"Remember what I said about not calling on me again?"

I nodded. "I remember."

"Yeah, well," she told me. "I meant it. And I still do. What you do might not all be this hair-trigger, skin of the teeth stuff, but it's too rich for my blood. I don't have the training for it, or the temperament. I want to go back to Brockton Bay, go back to teaching, and maybe run for vice principal if I feel like it." She gave me a long, hard stare. "I don't _ever_ want to have to face a truck full of crazed Mastered cultists, with just a pistol. Ever again."

I nodded. "That's fair. And I'm sorry you got hurt. If there's ever anything I can do for you or Franklin … "

"No!" She shook her head violently. "No, sorry, but I just want to be friends with Taylor Snow, the harmless, inoffensive PRT analyst, not Taylor Snow, the time traveller who wants to save the world. Call me shallow, call me cowardly, but that's not me. It's not what I want to do. Not any more."

As the SUV drew to a halt alongside us, I pulled her into a hug. "That's fine. You're not shallow, or cowardly. You're you, and I'm happy to call you my friend."

"You make it really hard to stay mad at you, you know?" she grumbled good-naturedly as Moose climbed out of the vehicle.

"Ladies," he greeted us. "I see you got out of the furball intact, or almost so?"

"Furball?" I asked, as he helped Gladys into the back seat.

"Oh, you don't know?" He looked at me. "You just caused the most godawful firefight between the guys on that place and the Mounties. It's why we were a little bit delayed. We've kinda been cruising around, keeping an eye out for you."

"Why -" I began, as I climbed in after Gladys, and rested her foot on my lap. "Oh, they kept coming, didn't they? Didn't stop at the boundary line?"

He nodded, checking that her foot was not going to be struck by the closing door. "Yeah. And the Mounties called for backup. Then some idiot pulled the trigger, and the Mounties shut them down real hard. Last we heard, they were calling it probable cause to hit the place hard."

"Probably figured it was okay," chimed in the guy in the front passenger seat. "given what the prisoners were saying about their glorious leader being dead."

He must have caught my look in the rear vision mirror, because he pointed at the dash. "We got a police scanner. All sorts of juicy stuff in the last half hour or so."

"Well, I'm not worried about that," I replied, "but we need to get to the airport just as soon as you can make it. Also, if you can call ahead and arrange some ice packs for Shooter's ankle, that would be great."

"That," declared Moose as he started the vehicle, "would be our genuine pleasure."

I settled back to enjoy the ride. Despite the fact that I'd nearly gotten both of us killed, I was feeling better about things than I had ten minutes previously. Heartbreaker was confirmed dead; the mission was a success.

_Now, let's hope that I can keep pulling off these successes._

* * *

By the time we got off the plane, Gladys' ankle had gone down enough that she was able to walk on it without too much pain. We had left the jackets with Moose and his nameless friend, along with the Glocks and shoulder rigs. I kept my own pistol, of course. I'd reloaded the magazine from the other Glock, and cleaned the pistol on the plane; no sense in alerting Kinsey to the fact that I'd been in a firefight.

Strike was there to meet us. "It's gonna be tight," he warned me. "Dunno if I can get you back there in time."

"Do your best," I advised him. "If we're late, we're late."

-ooo-

"_They're late," Kinsey stated flatly. "I said an hour before sunset, and it's an hour before sunset."_

_Andrea – he was no longer thinking of her as Ms Campbell, or even 'the Captain's lady friend' – wriggled under his arm; instinctively, he wrapped it around her shoulders, as she snuggled in to him._

"_Give them a little more time?" she suggested. "Taylor was really tightly wound when she got in to Brockton Bay. Maybe she just needs to stay out there a little bit longer."_

_He frowned. "Hm. Maybe -"_

_Three distinct pops echoed across the lake, the still water carrying the sound well. He looked up. "That's the Captain's pistol."_

"_Is she shooting at something?" Andrea looked concerned._

"_Not with that spacing," he decided. "That's a signal. She's there, she's alive, but someone's hurt, at a guess." He produced a large automatic pistol. "Cover your ears."_

_She did as she was told, as he strode down to the shoreline. He fired three times directly into the water; no sense in having bullets fall to ground elsewhere, maybe hitting someone._

_After a long moment, there was a single pop. He replied with a shot of his own. The ripples spread out across the lake._

"_Okay," he told her, as he returned to the campsite. "She knows I heard her, and that I know what's going on. She'll sit tight until I come to get her. Now, do you want to stay here in camp while I go get her, or come with?"_

"_Well __**duh**__," she told him with a grin. "Come with, of course."_

-ooo-

Gladys sat at the edge of the lake, her shoe off, bathing her ankle in the near-freezing water.

"How's it feeling?" I asked her.

"Still sore," she admitted. "But it's getting better."

Crackling undergrowth warned me that someone was coming; I turned fast, bringing up the small Glock. I may as well have been holding a bent stick as far as Kinsey was concerned, although Andrea looked a little taken aback. I lowered the pistol, crouching to tuck it back into the ankle holster, then straightened just in time to catch Andrea's charge.

"Taylor!" she squealed, setting birds to flight. "Yay!"

I held her tightly, feeling her arms wrap around me. "It's good to see you again too, sweetie," I told her. "Though you do realise that I've only been hiking around the lake. I haven't been that far away."

She grabbed my by the face and rubbed her nose lovingly against mine. "I still missed you, silly," she chided me. "Though James was really good company."

I glanced over at where Kinsey was examining Gladys' ankle. "He was?"

She nodded, grinning, then whispered in my ear. My eyebrows rose, and I looked again at Kinsey. "Well, well," I murmured. "Well, well, _well_. It looks like he took our little talk to heart."

"Uh huh," she agreed. "And afterward we got to talking, and he found out that I don't know _any_ of the fighting stuff that you and Gladys do, so he showed me some self defence stuff that people like me can do."

"Excellent," I told her. "That's really, really good to know. And I'm glad you two are getting along."

Gladys and Kinsey were arguing in low tones; after a few moments, Kinsey seemed to win. Effortlessly, he scooped Gladys up in his arms, ignoring her less than thrilled expression.

"Otherwise it'd be dark before we got back," he pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine," she agreed. "Taylor, grab my shoe, will you?"

"I'll get it," Andrea volunteered eagerly, and darted over to pick it up. Returning to my side, she captured my arm and held it tightly. "Let's get back to camp," she told me cheerfully. "We can have marshmallows."

And later on, I knew, Andrea would want to know all about how the mission had gone down. Which was fine; _I_ was equally interested in knowing how her day with Kinsey had gone.

I was sure we would both learn a lot.

* * *

End of Part 4-4


	24. Chapter 24

/o\

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 4-5: After-Action Report

* * *

_[Author's Note: After the last chapter was posted, questions were asked about Taylor's methods and personal feelings regarding the mission. Hopefully, these will be now answered.]_

* * *

**Saturday Afternoon, April 2 1994**

* * *

_The RCMP came into the compound fast, with weapons at the ready. Those few guards left behind were disarmed and subdued quickly; they were just a little disoriented, unable to resist effectively. Within the compound, the invaders found unarmed women, some infant children, and the corpse of the man called Nikos Vasil._

_He had been shot twice; the first bullet had punched in through his breastbone and out through the back, leaving a massive hole in one lung. With immediate attention, he might just possibly have survived that wound; however, the second shot had struck his left thigh, essentially turning his femur into shrapnel. His leg had been torn apart, the femoral artery shredded. Bone splinters had slashed through his body in all directions, some reaching as far up as his neck. Death had almost certainly come within seconds._

_Of some interest was the guard who was laid out beside him. This man had been shot from the back; the bullet, apparently in the region of a fifty calibre round, had punched through a Kevlar vest, through the man's body, and out through the vest again. It was determined that this was almost certainly the same shot that had punched the hole in Vasil's lung. Shreds from the vest were strewn throughout Vasil's wound, making the conclusion relatively easy._

_Investigation of the site of the shooting revealed the information that there had been a third shot; or rather, a first shot. This one had missed Vasil altogether, striking a support post and almost shattering it. The second had gone through the guard to get Vasil, and the third had hit him in the leg, killing him._

_All three bullets would eventually be located, but just one usable bullet-hole was found at the time, from the round which had destroyed Vasil's leg. Examination of the angle of the hole gave the direction from which the bullets had arrived, allowing the investigators to backtrack the shots. They had come from somewhere on a pair of small hills, about two kilometres from the compound; this made sense, given that they were the only terrain features in that direction with a view into the compound. Two kilometres was a tremendous distance to make a kill-shot over, but not impossible; given that it had obviously _**_been_**_ done in this circumstance, they had to accept the fact of it and move on._

_At first it was presumed that the sniper must have fired from atop one summit or the other, but both of those sites were ruled out when evidence of guard posts were found there instead. However, the blast site in the hollow was soon noted from this viewpoint, and the investigators went to see what could be found there. In the event, this turned out to be four guards, all dead, their state of disrepair depending on how close they had been to the explosions. Also located were bits and pieces of twisted metal, which could possibly once have been part of a sniper rifle._

-ooo-

* * *

**Saturday Night, April 2 1994**

* * *

"So that's it," Andrea concluded. "You succeeded, you killed him, but you also killed … "

"Maybe a dozen, maybe more, of his security guys. The ones in the truck, the ones that investigated the rifle, and the ones in the truck that were chasing us." My voice was low, controlled.

"And they had no choice but to do what he'd told them to do." She was upset, I could tell; her voice had a little quiver in it.

"Yeah, but I -"

"Let me finish," she told me. "I love you, you know that."

I held her a little more tightly. "I know that, yes."

"And I know about the whole time travel thing, and about what you're trying to do, and saving the world, and how he was kind of a really direct threat to you."

"Yeah," I agreed.

"So while I get that he needed to die, and I know that Lisa has her limits, and maybe you couldn't really avoid killing some of his guys … seriously, Taylor, please? I don't like it. I really don't like it. I love you, and I'm not going to stop loving you, but I just want to put it out there that I'm really, really unhappy with the fact that all those people died. Maybe they had to, maybe you couldn't do it any other way, but I'm really, really unhappy."

She buried her face in my shoulder, and her body shook silently. After a moment, as I held her tightly, I felt the hot tears soaking through my pyjamas.

"I'll do better next time," I promised her. "You have my word."

"You better," she retorted after a few moments, "or I'll guilt you into so much sex people will think you've changed your perfume to eu de me."

I smiled ruefully; Andrea could bounce back from nearly anything. And her mind nearly always swung toward sex. "And I won't struggle too hard," I responded, kissing her tenderly.

Her return kiss was rather more enthusiastic, and her embrace began to turn somewhat steamy. Before I knew it, she had me half out of my pyjamas, even in the confines of the sleeping bag.

"Uh, Andrea," I began, "really?"

"Still feeling upset, here," she informed me, sounding not in the least bit upset. Her hands, which knew me so well, did not cease in their wanderings. And I _was_ feeling rather guilty …

With a sigh, I resigned myself to my fate, and kissed her again. "But I really don't think we can pull it off in a sleeping bag," I told her.

"Wanna bet?" she asked me, and I knew – just _knew_ – that she was wearing her impish grin.

I didn't bet; I knew Andrea.

It was a good thing too; she would have won.

-ooo-

"_You really should talk to her."_

_I turned to look at Lisa as she expertly guided the car through traffic. _**_Who, Gladys?_**

_She shot me a sideways glance. "Well, you've already had your talk with Andrea."_

**_This is about the thing with Heartbreaker?_**

_She huffed a sigh. "_**_Yes_**_, it's about the thing with Heartbreaker."_

**_Look_**_, I began, _**_Gladys was unhappy enough about being in harm's way without me bringing something else up -_**

_She raised an eyebrow. "You really think that's what she was pissed off about? Seriously? You've known her for _**_how_**_ long?"_

_I paused. _**_Okay, so what do you think is really on her mind?_**

"_What do you think?" She looked at me for a moment, then put her eyes back on the road. Shifting a brass lever beside her caused the rapid whirring noise of the engine to slow noticeably; the car itself lost speed as a result. There was also a distinctive _**_pshhhh_**_ sound._

**_Wait a minute, _**_I blurted. _**_Is this a _****steam****_ car?_**

"_And the tall brunette in the third row wins the prize," she responded with a grin. "Check the other cars on the road."_

_I did so, and realised that the exhaust coming out of the tailpipes wasn't the grey or black of petrol or diesel smoke, but instead the puffy white of water vapour. And that more was let out when the vehicle was slowing down than when it was accelerating._

… **_huh._**_ For the first time, I actually looked around at the interior of the vehicle. It was nicely appointed; there seemed to be much more brass in use than in the modern vehicles I was used to. More leather, too. It was a nice change from plastic and vinyl. _**_I never noticed._**

"_You think that's cool, check to your right."_

_I looked away from Lisa, over the railing that guarded the edge of the freeway. There was a drop-off, and a slope down to a stream that seemed to be overgrown with trees. Beyond the stream was a flat field, planted with crops, which slowly rose toward …_

**_Oh._**

"_'Oh' is right," she agreed, a note of triumph in her voice. "This one's gonna be a fun one. And we don't even need dinosaurs or starships or zombies or dragons to enjoy ourselves."_

_I stared at the airfield, occupying a tremendous flattened area beyond the stream, and at the turn-off up ahead, which Lisa was already indicating to turn on to. The airfield had been built on one tremendous slab of concrete and asphalt, or so it seemed from my point of view. There was a row of spindly towers along one side of the airfield; they would have been dramatic enough without the zeppelins nosed up to them. Each one of the semi-dirigible airships was at least the length of two football fields, perhaps more; their silvery skins flashed in the sunlight._

_But even they were not the stars of the show. In any other place, they would have been; here, not so much. What caught my eye and held it, defying my brain's efforts to tell me that such a thing could not, should not, exist, was an aircraft so huge that it dwarfed even the enormous zeppelins._

_Its wingspan was staggering; one of those zeppelins, were it to traverse the aircraft's broad wing from tip to tip, would have to travel more than its own length to make the journey. Like a tremendous flattened-out aluminium cloud, it seemed to hover above the landscape, needing just the slightest breath of air to waft away._

_But it was going to need more than that to get into the air; I counted no less than eight gargantuan sets of propeller blades mounted on engine fairings to the rear of the kite-like flying wing. Each of those was to be powered, I could only imagine, by an engine that would rival a city bus in size. And even then …_

**_Holy shit,_**_ I muttered, unable to muster anything more appropriate. _**_Are we going to travel on … that?_**

"_Got it in one," Lisa responded, sounding pleased at my reaction. "What do you think?"_

**_Christ almighty,_**_ I replied. _**_Will it even fly?_**

_Lisa rolled her eyes. "'Will it even fly,' she says. Of _**_course_**_ it'll fly."_

**_Well, all I can say, _**_I told her as we rolled into the parking lot, _**_is that I hope like hell they've got enough leg room._**

_She grinned. "I think that's a guarantee."_

**_Good._**_ I went to open the car door; she put her hand on my arm._

"**_Talk_**_ to her," she stressed. "You need to get this out in the open before it festers and destroys your friendship."_

**_But what do I say?_**

"_Just be yourself," she assured me._

_I rolled my eyes. _**_Yeah, that's helpful. Okay, fine, I'll talk to her._**

_She smiled. "Kiss before we get on the plane?"_

_I leaned across and kissed her; her lips tasted of blood and dust. The wind kicked up; grit whipped in through the open window and stung my eyes, making me blink._

-ooo-

* * *

**Sunday Morning, April 3 1994**

* * *

"Mmmm," murmured Andrea, snuggling up to me. "Good morning to you too, lover."

"I kissed you again, didn't I?" I asked.

She nodded, her expression blissful. "I always like it when you do that."

"You do realise that I'm kissing Lisa when I do that."

"Oh, I know," she replied. "I don't mind, and nor does Lisa."

"I should never have introduced the two of you," I pretended to grumble. "You talk behind my back, don't you?"

"Well, _duh,"_ she agreed. "How _else_ am I going to learn all of your embarrassing secrets?"

And she was perfectly serious, I knew. Andrea never beat around the bush, never prevaricated, if telling the immediate and embarrassingly direct truth would get her what she wanted. It was one of the things that I loved about her; she had a refreshingly direct attitude toward life.

"So I'm going to need a favour off of you," I told her.

"_Rea_lly?" she asked, a mischievous glint appearing in her eye. "How important?"

I noted that she hadn't asked exactly what the favour was; this, however, was a girl who dived wholeheartedly into whatever new experiences came up – sometimes literally, to recall the incident at the lake when we had arrived – and was put off by little more than personal discomfort. And sometimes, not even that.

"Uh, very," I decided. "I want to talk to Gladys about yesterday, and I need you to get Kinsey out of camp for a bit."

"You want to talk to Gladys," she repeated.

"About yesterday," I agreed.

"Yesterday," she mused. "Well, I think you know _my_ opinion about yesterday."

I took a deep breath. I certainly did. "So, could you … ?"

"Lead Jim Kinsey off to a place where we can be alone while you two talk about whatever in the camp?" she finished. "Now, whyever would I agree to a thing like that?"

"Because of what you told me last night about your exploits yesterday," I pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. "Well, if you're going to bring _reality_ into the discussion," she answered with a grin. "I was going to see if you'd go so far as to bribe me with sex."

I shook my head. "For an assassination mission, this trip's certainly had a lot of _that_ going on," I observed. "In fact, the only person in the camp who _hasn't_ had any is Gladys."

She grinned at me. "Well, now's your chance," she pointed out.

"No," I protested. "Just no. Seriously." I tried to glare at her, but my face kept forming a grin as I imagined the look on Gladys' face if I propositioned her. Just before she either clocked me or ran for the tall timber. "No. Not going to happen."

"Oh, well," she sighed. "I just think you two are missing out on a marvellous opportunity to deepen your friendship."

"I'd dare you to repeat that line to her face, but you'd _do_ it," I retorted.

"Darn tootin'," she agreed happily. "Want me to?"

"_No,"_ I stated firmly. "I want her at least willing to listen when she's alone in camp with me."

"Awww," she responded playfully. "The look on her face would be _awesome."_

"You," I told her sternly, "would get altogether too much amusement out of it."

"No such thing," she informed me promptly. "Now could you help me find my things? I need to go pee."

I rolled my eyes. _"You_ were the one who wanted to do it in a sleeping bag. Geez."

"Shut up and help me get them. I think they were kicked down to the bottom."

In the end, we had to unzip the bag to get to them. With much giggling, she allowed me to help her get dressed, then I sent her on her way with a swat to the rump.

-ooo-

_Footprints, originating from a vehicle abandoned near the highway, indicated that two individuals had walked to the highway and presumably been given a lift to parts unknown. The size and spacing of the footprints indicated a tall female or lightweight male, and a male with an injured ankle. Enquiries were made, but no-one came forward to indicate that they'd seen anyone fitting even that very scanty description. Admittedly, once word got out as to who exactly had been killed, less people were likely to volunteer information, even if they knew anything._

_The investigation into the person or persons who had killed Nikos Vasil, and fifteen more of his men, would eventually be shut down due to lack of evidence._

_The families of the deceased – save for Vasil himself – were understandably unhappy to learn of the deaths of their loved ones. However, as these men had already cut themselves off from their families and friends, had abandoned their old lives in their entirety, the outcry was not as harsh as it might have been._

_Of course, the _**_living_**_ victims of Nikos Vasil were now facing another problem entirely …_

-ooo-

When I emerged from my tent, dishevelled but dressed, Kinsey greeted me with a steaming cup of tea. _He_ was immaculately clad in basic fatigues; I had no idea how he did it.

"Good morning, ma'am," he acknowledged me politely.

"Good morning, Kinsey," I replied, just as politely. "Did you sleep well?"

"Some noisy night creatures hereabouts, ma'am," he responded blandly. "But I've slept through worse."

"I'm sure you have," I told him, equally blandly. "So, are you enjoying this trip so far?"

He didn't answer immediately; contemplatively, he looked around the campsite, toward the lake, and then up at the trees. "I believe I am, yes, thank you, ma'am," he replied. "The company is enjoyable, the scenery rather pleasant, and I'm not having to nursemaid any junior officers who don't know their ass from their elbow."

I had to smile at that last bit. "I appreciate the candour, Kinsey. I know that while Gladys wasn't too thrilled about being carried back to camp yesterday -"

He waved away my comment. "Don't worry about that, ma'am. Mrs Knott is a capable, competent individual. I have a great deal of respect for her. And she doesn't like to be seen as weak. Nor would I, in her situation. I'll not be taking any of her comments personally."

I nodded. "Well, to be honest, I'm guessing that she won't want to do much hiking today, so I was going to stay in camp with her. But if you and Andrea wanted to go fishing or something -"

"Not too far from camp," he noted firmly.

"Right," I agreed. "Not too far from camp." I shrugged. "It's just that Gladys will want to rest her ankle, and my feet are a little sore as well, and I kind of figured that you and Andrea would want the chance to get out and explore a little while we take care of the place." I grinned. "Well, _she_ would, anyway. And I'd really appreciate it if you'd go along and make sure she doesn't get into trouble."

He nodded. "I'm not averse to the idea. I'll speak to her about it, see what she thinks."

"Good idea," I replied. "She told me last night that she really enjoyed her day with you. And thanks for teaching her some self defence moves; Brockton Bay is not the safest city in the world. You never know when she might need them."

"With the Captain's permission, I would like to keep training her," he offered. "If we're going to be here for a month, I believe I can have her reasonably competent to defend herself against casual attackers by the time we leave." Which meant, if I knew Kinsey, that any mugger taking on Andrea would end up wondering exactly what had hit him.

I nodded. "Permission granted, Sergeant."

"Thank you, ma'am."

-ooo-

"_Jeanette."_

"_Rene."_

_They faced one another across the interview room; a police officer stood just inside the doorway, while a psychologist sat off to the side, not quite between them, but close enough to address them both at once, if need be. These reunions had borne various results; some couples reunited, while some were forever estranged. This one was looking hopeful._

_There was a long pause, while the young man and the young woman searched one another's faces. Jeanette spoke first, this time._

"_How have you been?"_

_He almost chuckled at the banality of the question, but gave it an honest answer. "I lost my job."_

_She blinked. "What? How did that happen?"_

_His smile was rueful. "After I came to get you, and was escorted off the grounds, I tried to sneak back. I think I had some idea of abducting you – for your own good, of course."_

_She nodded, slowly. "Of course."_

"_However," he went on, "his security men caught me. I thought they were going to kill me, but they merely beat me very badly. I was in the hospital for a month."_

"_And that's how you lost your job?"_

"_Non, ma cherie. Gaston was willing to hold the position for me. But I stopped going. I hounded the local police and the Mounties, demanding that something be done. I wrote letters to every government official who could possibly be in a position to do something. And then I began a lawsuit."_

"_A … lawsuit?" She frowned. "Against whom?"_

"_Against the government, that they were allowing this thing to stand," he declared. "I tried to locate other people who had lost loved ones to this monster, to get them to join me in this crusade."_

"_But it didn't work," she guessed._

_Slowly, he shook his head. "It did not. I had to hire expensive lawyers, and my money soon ran out, and we had no result. A few people had supported me, but when nothing came of it, they drifted away. I lost my job, my apartment, and I had to move back in with my mother."_

_Her eyes were large and soft. "I am so sorry, Rene."_

_Defiantly, he raised his chin. "I am not. It is obvious that _**_someone_**_ heard my call to arms, and took matters into their own hands. And now, you are free of him."_

_She sighed. "I … not entirely, mon cheri."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_I mean that although my love for him is diminished, faded, it is not gone. I do not believe that I will ever be entirely free of it. But it has receded, and now no longer overshadows my love for you." She gazed beseechingly at him. "I know that he is dead. But still he will come between us in some small way, for the rest of our lives. Can you accept that, in me? Can you accept that I have borne another man's child?"_

_He stood, and took a pace toward her. Reaching out, he grasped her hands in his. "I have seen your little one, dear Jeanette," he declared. "She is not _**_his_**_ child. She is _**_yours_**_. And because I love you, and you love me, she is _**_ours_**_."_

_She stood, in her turn, and embraced him. "But … you're living with your mother. It will be some time before they release my own money back to me, if he has not spent it all. Can you support the two of us?"_

"_I have an offer for another job," he informed her. "It is not as good as the other one, but I can just barely support you, and our little one, if we scrimp and save." He kissed her on the forehead. "We will get by, Jeanette."_

"_Merci, Rene," she breathed. "Merci. Je t'aime."_

_But within, she worried. That last time, she had been sure she was pregnant. What if she was? Could they support two children?_

**_I will worry about that when I come to it,_**_ she decided. Right now, she needed Rene, and Rene needed her. The future could wait._

**_And besides, _**_she told herself hopefully, _**_it may not come to pass at all._**

-ooo-

Kinsey had, of course, brought along fishing equipment. I helped Andrea make up sandwiches from the remaining store of food in the back of the car, while Gladys watched bemusedly from her seat on a fallen log. Her gaze sharpened somewhat when she realised that I was not going on the little expedition, and her expression turned wary. But she didn't say anything, not until I had waved the two of them on their way.

"Kinsey and Andrea, huh?" she asked, as I turned back toward her.

"Yeah," I agreed. "When you think about it, they're a pretty good match. She's not looking for entanglements, and nor is he. She doesn't much go for guys, but then again, he's some guy."

"Think it'll cause problems, later?" Her voice was casual, but she watched me carefully as I came and sat on the log, a comfortable distance away from her.

"Can't see it," I responded. "She's in love with me, but she's willing to sleep with him. He gets the best of both worlds. And she's on birth control, just to keep her periods in check, so she's not likely to get pregnant."

"Got it all planned out, huh?" Her tone was dry.

"Not so much as the pieces just fell into place." I turned to face her. "Gladys, can we talk?"

"We can," she agreed, the wariness now showing up in her tone. "What about?"

I took a deep breath. "Yesterday, and why you're really mad at me."

Her voice was flat. "I already told you why."

"But you didn't tell me everything." I kept eye contact. Eventually, she looked away.

"Fuck. No, okay, fine. I didn't. I didn't want to bring this up, because if we disagreed on this, it might just destroy our whole friendship, and I did. Not. Want. That."

Somewhere along the way, she had gotten a fairly sturdy stick in her hands; as she spoke the last few words, she was twisting it, the muscles standing out in her forearms. It broke, with a sharp _crack_, on the last word, and I jumped slightly.

"I … okay, I got it," I replied. "But I really think we need to talk it out."

"You're not going to order me to talk it out, like you ordered me to kill that guard?" she asked, her voice sharper than I'd expected.

I shook my head slightly. "No, I'm not. But it does need to be talked out. Or it will sit between us." I took a deep breath. "Heartbreaker needed to die. Can we agree on that, at least?"

Slowly, she nodded. ""From what you told me, yes."

"But," I continued, "you're uncomfortable with the fact that innocent people – technically innocent, at the very least – had to die at our hands, in doing so."

She nodded again. "Yeah." Holding up her hands before her, she turned them over, looking at the front and back, before letting them fall into her lap again. "I used to be proud of being able to put a bullet exactly where I wanted it to go. I don't know if I'll ever be able to pick up a rifle again."

"That's fair." I moved a bit closer, and put my hand on her arm. "Let me tell you a story."

Turning her head, she looked at me. "Is this one of your stories from before you came back?"

I nodded. "It was Brockton Bay, after … well, a fairly comprehensive disaster had struck. Think Behemoth, only with water. We called him Leviathan."

She paled. "There were _two_ of them? Wait, there's _going to be_ two of them?"

"Yeah," I agreed. _And more, unless I can stop it._ "So anyway, the city's in chaos, and there's a parahuman who got a really bad batch of powers. She's grown to the size of a couple of elephants, and she's literally eating capes and spitting out evil, twisted clones of them. People died that day. A lot of people. Innocents and clones alike."

"Are you going to make the point that the clones needed to die?" she asked. "Because I can sort of get that."

I shook my head. "No. Well, they _did_ need to die, and I _did_ kill some of them. But that's not where I'm going with this." I took a deep breath. "We had her trapped. She was doing her best to break out, but she was held for just that moment. There were still a couple of capes trapped inside her. One of her former teammates had the wherewithal to kill her. If we held off to get the last few capes out, she could have broken free, and caused even more damage, more death. So I gave the order to kill her, and her captives with her."

She was silent for a long moment. "Did her … former teammate know?"

"No. No-one knew." _Lisa did, but she kept quiet, after I shut her up._ "If they had, they would have argued for delaying, rescuing the last ones. But it needed to be over. So I took it on myself. I gave the order."

"Just you." She lowered her head. "How did you feel about that?"

"Hated it," I replied. "But she had to die. There was no holding her. And I'd learned by then that sometimes shit just happens. Sometimes you can't save all the hostages. Sometimes – and there are villains out there who will do just this – sometimes, all you can do is choose who's going to die." My lips thinned. "The man who was controlling her, keeping her in check? I'd shot him in the head, not forty-eight hours previously."

She stared at me. "But why -"

"Because he wanted me dead." My voice was flat. "He wanted to enslave my best friend, and kill the rest of my teammates. I had to choose between my life and his. I chose mine."

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself; I didn't think that it was because she was cold. "I get it," she muttered at last. "I get that you come from a harsher time. A time that's yet to come. A time that's made you harder, colder."

"There's more," I told her. "I want you to think something through for me. Suppose you had held off on that shot. Suppose I'd ordered you to kill him, and you refused because the guard was in the way. He gets into the house, and then calls for all the hounds of hell to descend upon us. You take out the vehicles, and we run like hell."

"Which we did anyway," she noted.

"Which we did anyway," I agreed. "So the vehicle doesn't intercept us. We leave the rifle, because we can't run and carry it at the same time, and we don't blow it up, because that might hurt the guards coming to investigate. But we get away anyway."

She nodded. "Okay. What happens then?"

I shrugged. "We get back to Brockton Bay. But Heartbreaker has contacts in local law enforcement. He hands over what evidence he has, and they get a partial fingerprint off the trigger guard, or a hair caught on the stock, or some other evidence. They track you down, and tell him. He sends a Mastered minion to Brockton Bay."

She bit her lip. "Okay."

I waited for a moment, but she didn't seem willing to go on. "So this guy gets Franklin, and holds him hostage, with a pistol to his head. You've got a gun yourself, and you know for a fact that you can pop this guy, kill him stone dead, before he ever has a chance to hurt Franklin. You're aware that if you do anything but a straight kill shot, he's likely to get a shot off, and if he does that, Franklin is dead."

Her arms were wrapped around her body again. "I don't think I like where this is going."

I squeezed her shoulder. "Nor did I, when it happened to me. Here's your choice; surrender, and go back with the minion to become a slave of Heartbreaker, let him kill Franklin, or kill him before he can pull the trigger." I took a breath.

"Now, you're fully aware that he's not doing this of his own volition; he's doing it because Vasil told him to do it. But that doesn't change matters. He's going to carry out his orders, he can't be reasoned with, and he can't be scared off. Ignore any possibility of escape or being rescued before you get there." I paused for a long moment. "What do you do?"

Her head dropped so that her hair hung over her face. "Fuck you, Taylor." Her voice was harsh. "Fuck you with a fucking barge pole. That's not fucking _fair."_

"This is the point I'm trying to make," I told her. "It's _never _fucking fair." My own voice wasn't entirely steady when I spoke again. "I saw a villain kill people specifically because I was trying to help them. All too often, even if you're trying to do the right thing, bad shit happens anyway, either despite what you're doing, or, due to some really twisted fucking circumstance, _because_ of it. And hostage situations where the hostages are trying to kill you count as really twisted fucking circumstances."

She drew a long shuddering breath. "Yeah," she admitted quietly. "I get it. But it doesn't make me like it any more that they're dead."

"You think it does me?" I asked. "I once packed a man's eyeballs with maggots." She stared at me. "Unique situation," I went on hurriedly. "He survived, but I had nightmares about it for a while." I put my arm around her shoulders. "As for yesterday? Yeah, it's not going to go away for a bit. I regret every death. I'm sorry it had to be that way. But if we were to succeed, to survive, that's the way it had to go down."

"But did it?" she insisted. _"Did_ it have to be that way? Couldn't we have done it some other way? Caused less casualties? Been less risky?"

"We - uh, I went over it, in detail," I told her. "There were only two ways to get it done. Go in ourselves, or send someone else to do it." I squeezed her shoulders. "Risk was a secondary concern. Stopping Heartbreaker before he heard of me; _that_ was primary." A pause. "Well, okay, I guess we _could_ have sent in a plane to drop a bomb on the compound, or lugged in a mortar or something, and flattened the place from a distance, but there's three things wrong with that scenario." I though about that for a moment. "Four things."

Gladys considered my words. "Collateral damage?"

I nodded. "There were women and kids there."

She frowned. "It would be really hard to pull it off without someone noticing?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "We needed to be able to sneak in and out. Also, whoever flew the plane _would_ be forced down and taken into custody."

A longer pause, as she thought some more. "Uh, acquiring the equipment?"

"Uh huh. A sniper rifle is one thing. A mortar, or a light plane configured to drop some sort of payload? Plus the payload itself? All sorts of flags."

"Okay," she conceded. "I got it. Really bad idea. Though I can't think of what the fourth reason was."

I shrugged. "What if we missed?"

"Ew." She grimaced. "Okay, so why did _we_ have to go in? Why not some of Andrea's pet mercenaries?"

"Because she doesn't have any really good snipers," I explained. "At least, not yet. You're the best sharpshooter I know. I'm good; I've taken training since I joined the PRT, and I know that I wouldn't have had as good a chance as you did to make that shot."

"So they get in closer," she responded, ignoring the flattery.

"There _was_ no closer vantage point," I reminded her. "And even that one had patrols on top of it. So suppose they get in closer. Right up to the compound, so they can put one in his face. Across the fifty yards of open ground around it. They get seen, security converges on them from all directions. Or he sees them first, uses his power, they become his."

"Night assault?" she ventured.

"Floodlights. And once again, if he sees them, even once, they're his. Also, this is getting back to killing the proposed innocents. I can guarantee, a lot _more_ people would die in that scenario."

"Okay, _fine," _she argued. "Suppose it's us who go in. But we take in non-lethal options. Dart guns with tranquilliser rounds. Caltrops. Flashbangs. Smoke grenades. Knockout gas grenades. Tear gas. There's lots of options."

"Most of which are geared for _urban_ combat, or at least closely confined areas," I pointed out. "Using grenades that disable a target usually require that you take along some sort of protection to make sure _you _don't get disabled. Putting down caltrops requires that you know roughly where the enemy is going to go, and is more of a defensive measure anyway; it's sort of a poor man's landmine. Besides, it takes _pounds _of them to cover an appreciable area, and who was going to carry them and lay them out while we were sneaking up?"

She pressed her lips together. "Still, tranquilliser darts -"

"- take a small but appreciable time to work, especially on a large, muscular opponent who has lots of adrenaline running through his system." I looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "Did you really want to bet that the three guys that were on you _wouldn't_ lift their guns and get off a shot at you, or at me, before they fell over? And what about the guys in the front? I had to shoot through glass to get them."

"Fuck." She pulled one knee up, clasped it with both hands while she stared through the trees at the distant ripples on the lake. "Couldn't you have, you know, put together a plan that worked better, later on? You were always good at the plans."

I shook my head. "Trust me, I went over every iteration I could. His security would only have gotten better the longer I waited, and of course, being in the PRT means that I can't just take a weekender up to Canada at a moment's notice. This was the best balance of guaranteed kill versus risk versus potential collateral damage that I could depend upon, and I had to take it. The next big chance was far too close to a potential kidnap scenario, and would have had involved far more collateral damage."

Gladys leaned her head back to stare at the sky. "Dammit, Taylor," she growled. "I always thought that going into the field with you, for real, would be kinda fun. That I'd feel good about it, after. Not that I'd be arguing the ethics of shooting people who are under mind control."

"Yeah." I sighed. "I don't like it any more than you do. The difference is, I've been there before. I know what the consequences are for hesitating at the wrong second. So once I make the decision that someone's got to die, I act on it. It's as simple as that."

She frowned. "What about mixed teams? You didn't cover those."

"What, us plus mercenaries?" I waited for her to nod. "Yeah, looked at that too. Trouble is, a bigger team makes it more likely we'd be noticed on the way in. Plus, I don't know their capabilities precisely, I'm not a hundred percent on how quick they'd be to take my orders when the bullets are flying, and they're mercenaries, which suggests they have _some_ sort of discipline problem, or they'd be in the regular forces. But even if they're straight arrows, I've never trained with them and they've never trained with me. I mean, you and me, we work well together. Integrating two or three more guys into that, who we aren't absolutely certain we can depend on? It had a lower chance of success than what we did. Not by much, granted, but some."

"Huh," Gladys replied. "So basically, what we did had about as good a chance of success and survival as anything else." She shrugged. "So did you even consider finding someone who _didn't_ care much about survival and pointing them at him? You know, just as a hypothetical example?"

"No," I told her firmly. "I had … the brother of a friend of mine committed suicide, once upon a time. _I_ felt that way, for a bit, myself. I wasn't about to enable that sort of behaviour, even for this situation."

"Oh," she responded. "Sorry."

"It's okay," I assured her. "So we're good?"

She nodded consideringly. "Yeah, we're good. It was a bad situation, and I was stuck with the idea that there _had_ to be an ideal way out of it."

"Yeah," I agreed dryly. "Best of luck with that one. How's your ankle, anyway?"

She blinked at the sudden change of subject, but went along with it. We'd about said all we wanted on that topic, anyway. "Uh, yeah, it's good. I can pretty well walk on it without pain, now."

"Good," I replied. "So I can steal your walking stick now, grandma?" I made as if to grab the makeshift crutch that Kinsey had made for her once we got back to camp; she slapped my hand out of the way.

"You just try it," she warned me. "I'll beat your ass, sore ankle or no sore ankle."

I rolled my eyes. "Promises, promises."

"How soon they forget," she retorted. "But if you really want to get your ass beat, I have a suggestion."

I raised an eyebrow. "Let's hear it."

* * *

The sound of wood thwacking on wood greeted Kinsey and Andrea as they returned from their fishing expedition. Gladys and I circled each other, makeshift staves held in guard positions, watching for a shift of the eyes or balance that betokened a move. We'd been at it for a little while now; I had a bruise on my thigh, and I'd caught Gladys a good one in the ribs.

Andrea stopped, mouth open, the fish dangling from her hand forgotten. "Taylor, Gladys, holy shit!" she exclaimed. "What are you _doing?"_

"Getting back into practice," I grunted. "Been a while." I stepped forward and launched a series of attacks that rattled off of Gladys' staff, only to retreat hurriedly when she retaliated in kind.

Kinsey didn't comment at all; when I shot a brief glance his way, I could see that he was leaning against the car, observing us with interest.

"Well, aren't you going to stop them?" Andrea asked him.

"Don't see why I should," he replied easily. "They're adults, and they both know what they're doing, from the looks of it."

"Actually," panted Gladys, "I was thinking we might call it a day."

"What, giving up already?" I teased her, and swung my staff, but it was only a half-hearted blow. She easily blocked it, and swung back at me. I dropped my own staff, and caught hers; she grinned and let go of it. I dropped it on top of the first one. We bowed to each other, touched fists, then hugged.

"That was good," she told me, once we disengaged. "Haven't done that in too long, not with someone who knows how to go at it."

"Yeah," I agreed. "I've tried showing Kinsey how, but he's always too busy with other stuff."

"Jim's really good at teaching people how to fight," Andrea pointed out proudly. "I'm really enjoying learning what he's got to teach me."

"I just _bet_ you are," Gladys commented dryly; Andrea grinned and stuck out her tongue at the blonde.

"Enough," Kinsey commented mildly. "Ma'am, do you want to help Andrea clean the fish, while I make sure that Mrs Knott's ankle hasn't suffered from your little sparring bout?"

_Andrea, huh?_ I acted like I hadn't noticed his little slip, while he pretended not to have made it. Gladys had apparently not picked up on it at all, while Andrea simply didn't care.

"Good idea, Kinsey," I agreed. Holding out my hand, I accepted the fighting knife from him, and turned to Andrea. "Come on. Ever done this before?"

"Nope," she declared, "though I'm always willing to try something new."

Putting my free hand around her shoulders, I leaned down to give her a quick kiss. "I know," I told her. "If there's anything about you I know, it's that."

She giggled and snuggled into me. "Darn _tootin'."_

* * *

"So, enjoying our camping trip?" I asked, using Kinsey's knife to slice open the second of the three fish. We sat on the lake shore, looking out over the flat, still waters in what passed for the midday sun here.

"Oh, god yes," Andrea enthused. She worked away industriously with the scaler, sending glittery flakes flying into the water. "Jim showed me a few new moves while we were waiting for the fish to bite. They were pretty sweet."

"Moves, huh?" I asked. "Are we talking self defence, or the other?"

She grinned at me. "Yes."

I closed my eyes for a moment – making sure I knew exactly where the knife blade was – and shook my head ruefully. "I walked right into that one, didn't I?"

She giggled. "Uh huh. But seriously, I'm having a lot of fun. I'm with you, which is always good, and Gladys is fun to be around too, and you brought Jim along, which I thought might be -"

I cleared my throat. "Not sure _exactly_ what you were going to say, Andrea, but just so you know, he just walked up behind you."

" - a bit of a drag," Andrea finished cheerfully. "But he's really a great guy. Life of the party and all that."

"Indeed," Kinsey remarked, very dryly, from where he stood behind her. "Mrs Knott's ankle is none the worse; I came down to see how the fish are going."

"Well, actually, we're doing great," I told him. "One done, and we're working on the other two."

"Good, good," he commented. "So, when were you thinking of heading back to Brockton Bay?"

"What, we're not staying the night?" asked Andrea, looking somewhat stricken.

I shook my head. "Sorry. I've got to attend that Careers Day in the morning, and I'd rather not be rushed when it comes to getting my dress uniform looking just right."

"As the Captain says," Kinsey confirmed. "Perhaps we'll have another opportunity to go camping before this leave is over."

"Yay!" Andrea exclaimed. "That'll be awesome!"

"You know," I commented, "I don't know whether to be pleased that you two are getting along so well, or be worried that you two are getting along so well."

"Be worried," Andrea advised me seriously, although I saw the twinkle in her eye. "Be very, very worried."

-ooo-

* * *

**Sunday Afternoon, April 3 1994**

* * *

"Damn," Gladys told Kinsey, "this is _good."_

"Mmmph," Andrea agreed, although somewhat muffled, as her mouth was full of fish.

"Is it just me," I asked, "or does fresh-caught fish just plain taste better than store-bought?"

"Not just you," Gladys assured me. "Not just you." She forked up another piece, put it on a piece of buttered bread, and folded it over. "I've camped before, and I've had fish before, but Sergeant Kinsey, you have a talent for this."

Kinsey smiled slightly at the praise. "Thank you, Mrs Knott," he responded. "It's all in the seasonings. And fresh-caught is also a factor, or so I believe."

"Oh, for god's sake, call me Gladys," she chided him. "We're all adults here. Except for Andrea, of course."

"Hey!" Andrea objected. "I'll have you know that I was reliably informed that good things come in small packages."

"Oh, I wasn't talking about your _height,"_ Gladys cheerfully informed her. "I was referring to your general level of maturity. Or, you know, lack thereof."

"Oh, well, that's okay then," Andrea responded blithely. "I withdraw my objection. Maturity is overrated, anyway."

"If I'm going to be calling you Gladys, then you should be calling me James," Kinsey told Gladys. "We are in an informal environment, after all."

"Okay, James," she agreed. "But if it's so informal, why don't you call Taylor by her name?"

"Because on leave or otherwise," he told her, "Captain Snow is still my commanding officer. And unless and until she ceases to be so, she will remain Captain Snow to me."

Andrea's eyes opened wide with glee. "Holy crap, Taylor," she exclaimed. "I just realised. You've got a _minion!"_

She picked the exact wrong time to say that; a piece of fish that I was in the process of swallowing went down the wrong way, and set off a fit of coughing. In the meantime, Kinsey acquired the closest thing to a horrified expression that I had ever seen on his face, and Gladys looked as though she wanted to burst out laughing, but didn't dare.

Gladys slapped me on the back, and the fish was dislodged; I picked up my mug of tea and took a drink, to wash it down the right way, this time. "Oh god no," I told Andrea. "Don't even say that as a joke. Minions are what _supervillains_ have. I'm an officer in the PRT; that's about as far from being a supervillain as I can get."

"Yeah, I know," Andrea replied with an unrepentant grin. "But you should have seen your faces."

"Andrea," Gladys told her, slowly shaking her head, "you are a bad, bad person."

Andrea nodded gleefully. "Yep!"

"Which reminds me, ma'am," Kinsey remarked; I looked expectantly at him. "I believe I asked you earlier when you were intending to leave, and we were sidetracked before you answered."

"Oh!" I realised. "Yeah, sorry, Kinsey. What time is it now?"

"About one, ma'am," he informed me.

"Okay, fine," I decided. "We'll start packing up about two or so. That'll give us plenty of time to get back to Brockton Bay before nightfall."

"Aww, we've only got another hour out here?" Andrea looked almost heartbroken.

I hugged her. "Hey, cheer up. I've still got another three weeks of leave. We'll just be, you know, in town, instead of out here."

"But I was really enjoying this," she protested. "It's so different from going to an actual commercial campsite, with all the other people around, and rules and regulations and stuff."

"Yeah, well, I wouldn't have been able to unwind at all at one of those campsites," I agreed. _More to the point, I wouldn't have been able to sneak away without being noticed. _"I've enjoyed this too. We should go camping more often, when I get the chance."

"Yeah," she agreed, brightening up again. "I like that idea."

"Thought you might," I told her. "Split the last piece of fish?"

"Sure!" She cut it in half and speared one half on her fork; instead of eating it herself, she fed it to me. With that cue, I took the other piece of fish and popped it into her mouth; we grinned at each other as we ate the fish.

"Oh god," Gladys groaned. "Save me from the cuteness."

In unison, Andrea and I turned and poked out our tongues at her.

Shaking his head slowly, Kinsey stood up. "I'll make a start on cleaning up," he decided.

Gladys nodded. "I'll help you."

* * *

It was quiet in the car on the way back to Brockton Bay. The desultory conversation had petered out after the first few miles, and Kinsey had turned on the radio to find some gentle easy-listening music. Gladys was leaning back in her corner of the car, her eyes closed, and Andrea had her head resting on my shoulder. I was finding it hard to stay awake as well, so I leaned back and closed my eyes.

-ooo-

"_Oh, hey," Lisa greeted me. "Welcome back."_

_I looked around. _**_This looks familiar._**

_And indeed it did; I stood beside her in a queue that led toward a ramp. A ramp that led up into the bowels of a gigantic aircraft that crouched on the tremendous expanse of airfield all around us like a bird of prey, merely waiting to spring into the heavens. This close – literally _**_under_**_ it – the broad flying-wing fuselage seemed to overshadow the world. It shaded enough ground to host two separate gridiron games, with room left over for the spectators. In the distance, shining in the sunlight, I could see the row of zeppelins nosed up to their towers; in comparison to this monster of the skies above us, they looked like mere toys._

_Gradually, we shuffled forward, a few steps at a time. We seemed to be passing by some sort of black barrier, strangely curved. I prodded it, and realised; this was a _**_tire_**_. Part of the landing gear. It was taller than I was by several times over, and there were at least a dozen of them, supporting this aircraft. Maybe twice that many, if they were on dual axles._

_I shook my head; this thing was built on a scale that I wasn't used to dealing with._

"_It's familiar because I put this world on pause when you woke up last time," Lisa informed me. "I don't want you missing any of it."_

**_So what's going to happen?_**

_She shrugged and grinned her fox-like grin. "I don't know. I don't care. I'm just here to have fun."_

_We climbed the boarding ramp, gradually getting closer to the belly of the aircraft. As we shuffled forward, however, the sense of wonder gradually wore off. This was just another aircraft; the difference was merely in scale. What we were doing was little different to what commercial airliner and cruise liner passengers had done for decades._

_When we reached the head of the line, it was almost an anticlimax; a uniformed officer took the tickets that Lisa proffered, and read them out loud. "Wilbourn and Hebert, stateroom thirty-four S." He pulled a key off of a board full of hooks and raised his voice slightly. "Steward!"_

_A younger man in a slightly different uniform – a steward, I guessed – appeared at his elbow almost immediately. "Sir?"_

"_Escort these ladies to their cabin, if you please. Then back here, on the double."_

_The steward nodded and glanced briefly at the tickets before accepting the key. "Yes, sir." Turning to us, he bowed. "If the ladies would like to follow me?"_

_Lisa nodded back, looking somewhat amused. "The ladies would like, yes."_

_We followed him along a passageway that appeared to be panelled in some dark wood, wide enough for returning stewards to slip past us without so much as brushing our clothes. There was a set of stairs that led upward, but our steward guided us into an old-fashioned elevator car, pulled the cage shut, and murmured something to the youthful elevator operator. The boy nodded and pulled a lever at his side; the elevator jolted, then moved upward._

_I had to stop and reassess my thoughts at this point; this plane was big enough to be several storeys _**_deep_**_, and had an elevator in it. And the passageways were panelled in wood._

_The elevator clattered to a halt a few moments later, and the steward opened the cage doors. "Down this way, if you please," he murmured, and led the way._

_Here, the carpet was a deep, rich red; I could literally feel my feet sinking into it. The panelling was even more ornate than below, with delicate electric lights in brass fittings. Fittings that looked as though they were regularly polished._

"_Twenty-eight … thirty-two … thirty-four," recited the steward with relish. He inserted the brass key into the door and turned it; the lock clicked open, and he opened the door with a flourish.. "Welcome to White Star Airlines," he told us. "If you have any questions, press the button beside the door, and a steward will attend to you presently."_

"_Uh, one question, before you go," Lisa cut in. "Our luggage … ?"_

"_It will already have been loaded, ma'am," the steward told her. "Small goods will be in your cabin; if you need to gain access to anything larger, you may speak to the bursar."_

"_Thank you," she told him, in a gracious tone I had never before heard her employ. "You have been most helpful." She pressed a coin into his hand, and he trotted off down the corridor at speed._

**_You have been most helpful?_**_ I raised an eyebrow as I entered the cabin, with Lisa following._

"_Hey, just getting into character," she replied with a grin that was much more in character for her, personally. "But wow, check out this stateroom."_

_I checked it out. It wasn't exactly luxurious, by hotel standards. Two beds, apparently bolted to the floor. A small bathroom. A writing desk, with a chair that was attached to the desk itself, and swivelled out when needed._

**_This wouldn't be too bad, if we were on board a ship,_**_ I mused._

"_But we're not," Lisa reminded me. "We're on a _**_plane_**_."_

_I had another look at the furnishings. _**_Okay, yeah. Holy shit. This is awesome._**

_She bounced on a bed experimentally. "Wow, this is actually comfortable."_

_I frowned. _**_I wonder how far we'll be flying if we actually need a bathroom and bedroom on the flight?_**

"_More to the point," Lisa noted, "did you hear what the steward said when he opened the door."_

**_What, 'welcome to White Star Airlines'?_**

_She nodded. "Yeah. You know what White Star was famous for in the real world?"_

_I frowned. _**_It _****sounds****_ familiar._**

"_It should." She tapped the wooden desk – actual wood, not veneer over chipboard – with her fingernail. "White Star Lines owned the Titanic."_

**_Okay, that's just a _****little**_** unsettling, **__I agreed. _**_But what -_**

_A tone sounded through a brass speaker set in the wall, followed by an authoritative voice._

"**_Attention all passengers. Attention all passengers. Engines will be starting in five minutes. Passengers should lie down on their beds if in their cabins. If you wish to view the takeoff from the viewing gallery, please make your way there immediately."_**

_I turned to Lisa. _**_Viewing gallery?_**

"_Oh hell yes," she agreed. "Viewing gallery it is."_

_She turned to press the button, when I felt a lurch that didn't seem to come from my surroundings._

**_Whoops, I think I'm waking up._**

"_See you when you get back," Lisa told me; she leaned in and kissed me. Her lips tasted of dust and blood. I blinked as her hair brushed my eye -_

-ooo-

"Okay, I'm awake," I mumbled, dragging my eyes open.

Andrea peered at me from a distance of about three inches. "Are you _sure?"_ she asked mischievously. "You could just be talking in your sleep."

"I believe that the Captain is now awake," Kinsey supplied from outside the car.

"_Thank_ you, Kinsey," I replied. Sitting up, I undid my seat belt, and waited until Andrea had climbed off my lap before getting out of the car. Stretching, I felt my back pop in several places.

"Wow," I added. "I must have been more tired than I thought."

"Gladys made much the same observation," Kinsey observed. "She was also rather happy to be reunited with her husband."

"Darn," I muttered. "I missed saying hi to Franklin."

"You've got three weeks," Andrea reminded me. "Come on, let's help Jim unpack. Camping's great, but so are real beds and real showers."

"You bounced back pretty quickly from 'Aww, I don't wanna go home,'," I observed with a grin.

Andrea grinned back at me. "You know me. I don't dwell on things."

"Ain't that the truth," I murmured.

* * *

It only took a few trips to get the camping equipment, and the remains of the food we had packed, up to Andrea's apartment. Spread around her living room, it made for quite a mess.

"I suppose we should be putting this all away," I commented, not particularly eager to get the task started.

"After we eat," Andrea declared. "And shower. Oh god, hot shower. Dibs on first!"

"I'll put something on to cook," Kinsey suggested. "Any preferences?"

"Oh, anything will do. Go nuts." Andrea turned to me. "Seriously, Taylor, why have you not married this man yet?"

"Regulations," I pointed out. "And wow, Andrea, you're about the last person I'd expect to suggest marriage to anyone, especially me."

"Oh yeah," she realised. "Good point. Wanna share the shower?" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "I have a new body wash."

Out of her sight, Kinsey made a motion with his eyes, which I translated as _I need to speak to you ASAP._ I'd already been about to turn her down - I knew quite well where that shower offer was going to lead, and I didn't quite have the energy to fight her off at the moment - so I shook my head. "Sorry, maybe another time."

She grinned at me, not at all put out. "Your loss. Now I'm gonna use up all the hot water, just because."

"You do that anyway," I retorted, with an answering grin.

Her only reply was to poke her tongue out at me; she was already pulling her top off as she headed down the passageway.

Once the bathroom door closed behind her, I turned to Kinsey. "Yes, Sergeant?"

Apparently ill at ease, he cleared his throat. "Ma'am, I need to ask you a question."

"Go ahead," I invited. "Ask."

Kinsey drew a deep breath. I frowned; I knew something was bothering him, but ...

"Ma'am," he asked, "why did you go to the lake? What were you _actually_ doing out there?"

* * *

End of Part 4-5


	25. Chapter 25

/o\

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 4-6: Careers Day

* * *

I had been partly prepared for Kinsey's question; not for that exact one, but I'd been aware that something was troubling him. And so, I only hesitated for half a second. It was almost half a second too long; his eyes were starting to narrow when I replied.

"Kindly explain the question, Sergeant. What, exactly, do you mean by it?"

He smiled very slightly, and the dance began. I was a trained PRT Intelligence officer; before he came into my service, he had been an MP with years of experience under his belt. We each knew how the other thought; my poker face was almost the equal of his, but that didn't mean that he couldn't read me anyway.

"I mean, Captain, that certain things fail to add up regarding our trip." He spoke evenly, directly. We both knew that there would be no fallout on him, no matter how this conversation turned out; he and I had that kind of working relationship.

"Indeed? And what might they be?" My hands were clasped behind my back, and I met his gaze unflinchingly. He may have nodded fractionally at how my hands were out of sight to prevent tells and other unconscious gestures.

"I found it interesting that you attempted to prevent my accompanying you on this vacation," he began. "First, from Chicago, and then the camping trip itself. However, today you suggested a follow-up camping trip, and invited me along, so it can not have been my presence, as such, to which you were objecting."

"Interesting, Sergeant, but hardly conclusive evidence of anything amiss," I pointed out. "Please, go on."

The crows-feet around his eyes crinkled almost imperceptibly, which I took as humour. But why was he amused; something about what I had said, or what I had not said?

"Of course, Captain," he replied courteously. "Following that, your apparently spontaneous suggestion of a walk around the lake, accompanied by your friend Mrs Knott, but not the delightful Ms Campbell." He paused, and we could hear the aforementioned Andrea splashing in the shower, accompanied by the words of what might have been a rather raunchy song.

"To ensure that I did not come along as well, you primed me with the information that Ms Campbell was amenable to, and interested in, a liaison with myself." His brows drew down fractionally at that. "I have to ask; was this her idea, or yours?"

"As I informed you at the time, Sergeant," I replied formally, "Andrea is her own person. I would no more consider asking – or telling – her to do that, than I would consider ordering you to do the same." I allowed a brief smile to cross my face. "She was, however, very interested in such a concept, and still has trouble understanding why I have not slept with you myself. Military regulations, it seems, are very much a closed book to her."

"Indeed." He paused. "Thus, having successfully separated yourself from my presence, you and Mrs Knott presumably hiked around the lake, covering an unspecified distance. I had originally considered the idea that you may have been simply seeking a sexual liaison with her, but while there is comradeship between you, you do not strike me as that sort of pairing."

Again, I allowed myself to smile. "Indeed we are not, Sergeant. Gladys is very straight and very happily married. We have been close friends for years, but in no way are we _that_ close."

"As I surmised," he agreed. "Which raises the question of what you two were doing, while I was … distracted."

"I believe that you were told that we were hiking around the lake, Sergeant," I suggested.

"I was indeed told that, yes." A raised eyebrow indicated how much he thought of that concept. "However, I do recall hearing vehicle noises on the road, some little time after you left in the morning, and some little time before you signalled for help, in the evening. A suspicious man might conclude that you might have been picked up and dropped off by a third party, in the meantime spending the bulk of the day elsewhere."

I was impressed, although I tried not to show it. Kinsey had not only noted the noise of the SUV that had been our transported, but he had also tied it in with the rest of what we had done. "It's a road, Kinsey. Vehicles travel along it all the time."

"This is indeed true, ma'am," he agreed. "The timing, especially of a vehicle stopping and starting off again, could be noted as suspicious, however."

"You seem to have acquired a great deal of surmise, Kinsey." I raised an eyebrow of my own. "Did you intend to pass this on to anyone else?"

"Hardly, ma'am," he assured me with a genuine snort of amusement. "As you say, it is built largely out of surmise. But it is enough to make me wonder. Which is why I am asking you now, ma'am. Did you do something while you were at the lake, that you did not want me to know about?"

I eyed him for a long moment, constructing my next statement in my mind. I had to decide whether or not to trust him, and if the former, _how much_ to trust him with. Finally, I nodded.

"Yes, Kinsey, I did do something, while you were at the lake."

His eyes narrowed, and he nodded once, very slightly. "Yes, ma'am?"

"In time, you may figure out what it was. For now, I will merely assure you that it was a matter of the utmost importance, and that it will in no way reflect back on the PRT."

He raised his chin slightly. "Was it a sanctioned mission, ma'am?"

I shook my head. "It was not. The PRT has no knowledge of what happened. Or rather, that what happened had anything to do with me or Gladys." A pause. "However, if they had been aware of the urgency of the situation, I have no doubt that I would have been given the go-ahead." _Or taken on the job in their own fashion, and screwed it up royally._

"Better to beg forgiveness than to ask permission, ma'am?" His smile was dry, but I fancied I saw a hint of approval in it.

"Very much so, Kinsey," I agreed. "Very much so."

He nodded once, consideringly. "Well, ma'am, I hope you enjoyed your walk around the lake. Because that's what happened. Isn't it?"

I smiled. "Indeed, Kinsey. Indeed."

Dusting his hands off, as if having dealt with a difficult task, Kinsey looked around. "Well then, I believe that I will see about cooking something up for dinner. Did you have any requests, ma'am?"

"Not particularly, Kinsey," I replied. "You know my preferences; I trust your cooking." My tone of voice indicated that I trusted a lot more than just his cooking; from the eye contact, he got my meaning.

His smile was brief but genuine. "Always good to hear that from an officer, ma'am."

I smiled back. "Always good to have a sergeant I can say it to."

-ooo-

By the time Andrea emerged from the shower, wisps of steam still floating behind her, Kinsey had the meal well started. She leaned in and sniffed rapturously. "Seriously, Jim, I'm thinking of kidnapping you just for your cooking skills."

"I might object," I observed from the living room, where I was relaxing on the sofa. "He's kind of my responsibility."

"I'll bribe you with sex," she offered with a playful grin, pretending to tug at the belt holding her all-too-brief robe closed.

"You realise that for that to work, _I _would have to be the one bribing _you_ with sex," I pointed out.

"Okay, I accept the bribe," she retorted promptly, climbing on to my lap. "Now, where do I start ... ?"

"Oh god, do you never stop?" I asked, trying not to laugh.

"Not if I can help it," she assured me cheerfully.

I let her kiss me once, then held her back. "Well, there _is_ no sex bribe going, so you can sit beside me."

"Okay, fine," she agreed readily, moving off my lap and snuggling up next to me.

"Ladies," Kinsey reported discreetly from the kitchen doorway, "dinner will be served shortly."

"Which means I need to take a shower now," I noted.

"I'll come with," Andrea declared immediately.

I rolled my eyes. "You just _had_ a shower."

"And you weren't there. So whose fault is that?"

I looked at her mischievous expression and shook my head. "I will be showering alone. You can stay out here and keep Sergeant Kinsey company."

She looked from me to Kinsey and grinned. "Okay."

Sighing, I got up and headed down the corridor to get clothes from Andrea's bedroom. She was so refreshingly direct; I couldn't help but appreciate her candour, even if fending her off got just a little exhausting at times. But she never sulked or got upset if I turned her down; she just bounced back like a rubber ball.

On the other hand, Andrea Campbell was also my closest confidante, and was just as sincere in her love for me, and her dedication to what I was doing. She had given me emotional support when I needed it the very most, and continued to do so, even over the distance between Brockton Bay and Chicago. For all of her little quirks and flaws, she was a very real part of my life, and I forgave her her foibles, for what she gave me in return.

-ooo-

In the shower, I scrubbed myself down, washing the grime of two days in the woods – and a running firefight in Canada – off of me. We had bathed using the lake water, but those were sponge baths; no-one, not even Andrea, wanted a second dip in that freezing cold lake. A hot shower, by comparison, was the very ambrosia of the gods.

Two minutes after stepping into the shower, I was out again; one minute after that, I was dried and dressed. My hair was still quite short, despite not having been cut since Boot, so a brisk rub with the towel sufficed there.

"Shower's free," I announced, stepping out of the bathroom. Kinsey and Andrea glanced around as I re-entered the living room; he was still standing by the stove, while she hadn't moved from the couch. From the grin on her face, however, she had been chatting with him. Or flirting shamelessly, which more or less amounted to the same thing with Andrea.

"Wow," she commented. "It usually takes me that long just to get the temperature right."

"You learn not to worry about things like that in Boot," I advised her. "Some places, warm water's a bonus. Kinsey, I left some for you."

"Appreciate it, ma'am," he acknowledged. "I'll shower after we eat and unpack."

-ooo-

The meal was delicious; Andrea archly asked Kinsey if he was certain that he didn't want to be kidnapped. The fringe benefits, she intimated, were quite worth it. He smiled briefly, and advised her to talk to me about that.

After dinner, we unpacked, started a load of laundry, and Kinsey headed off to shower. Andrea and I settled down in the living room to snuggle on the couch and watch TV.

"It's weird," she observed. "I barely think about TV most times, but two days away and I'm wondering what shows I'm missing."

"It's the modern world," I agreed. "We have so many modern conveniences that we just don't notice them till they're gone."

She leaned comfortably against me. "I don't know if I'd count you as a modern convenience, but I surely do miss you when you're not here."

"I miss you all the time, sweetie," I told her honestly.

"Aww, really?" she asked. "That's so sweet."

I laid my head atop her riotous curls. "Really," I assured her. "So many times, I think to myself, 'It's just too quiet around here. Oh wait, Andrea's not here.'."

She giggled. "Darn tootin'."

By the time Kinsey came out of the shower – he used no more time, or water, than I did, and even less time drying his hair – Andrea had managed to coax her way back on to my lap, and was sitting across my legs as we both watched TV. He made no comment, and even fetched soda from the kitchen when Andrea mentioned that there was a cold bottle in the fridge.

I wasn't quite sure what time Careers Day started at Winslow, so at eleven, I suggested that we go to bed. Kinsey was agreeable, and Andrea was positively enthusiastic at the idea. Snuggling with her in a full-sized bed, I discovered anew, was much more convenient than attempting the same act in a sleeping bag on an air mattress. I half-expected her to try for more than just snuggling, but as it turned out, we were both too tired; she fell asleep in my arms.

-ooo-

_I looked around, as a uniformed young man ushered us into a long, low gallery, our feet sinking into the rich, thick carpet. Seats were spaced along it, giving a good view down through a series of solid-looking glass panes. Lisa picked a seat almost at random, and I sat down beside her. The seats were soft, comfortable, almost armchair-like. Soft music played throughout the gallery, in counterpoint to the steadily deepening rumble of what I recalled were the engines._

_**We're on that plane,** I recalled. Looking down through the thick glass, I could see the ground, some distance below. It was stationary, which indicated that we hadn't gone anywhere yet. **Wow, that's a long way down.**_

"_Yes, we are, and yes, it is," Lisa replied, sounding rather pleased with herself. She looked up as a steward materialised beside us. "Yes?"_

"_Would the ladies like something to drink during takeoff?" the steward asked deferentially. I glanced around; the other side of the gallery consisted of a **bar.** They were serving drinks to passengers, even as I watched._

"_Why yes, thank you," Lisa told him graciously. "I'll have a brandy Manhattan, and my friend will have … "_

"_Chilled milk, if you have it," I decided._

_The steward bobbed his head. "Of course. I will only be a moment."_

_As he moved away, the gallery seemed to lurch very slightly, and the ground through the viewing windows began to slide away, moving sideways in a manner somewhat disturbing to the inner ear. I knew, of course, that this was just the gargantuan aircraft releasing its brakes and rolling on to the runway, but still, it beggared the imagination that something this huge could **move**, let alone get its tremendous bulk into the air._

_We paused at the head of the runway, as the pilots (I **hoped** there was more than one pilot for something this big) no doubt conferred with what air traffic control there was. I wondered if they were using radio, or something more basic, considering the retro-tech feel of the aircraft. Maybe they were using a semaphore, or playing charades out the cabin window._

_A gentle tone sounded, drowning out the music for just a moment. "Takeoff in thirty seconds," a warm contralto sounded through the speakers. "Takeoff in thirty seconds."_

_I counted down the seconds in my head; when I reached 'ten', the steward reached us with two cut-glass tumblers on his tray. "Ladies," he greeted us once more. "Your drinks, if you please."_

_Lisa took her drink, and I snared mine. Just as I took my first sip – it was both chilled and delicious – the tone sounded once more. I moved the glass from my lips just as the jolt told me that the brakes had been released. The sound of distant thunder, which had gradually been ramping up, reached a crescendo, and the gigantic flying wing began to move forward._

_After the first jolt, the acceleration was smooth, and the movement over the concrete airstrip was entirely devoid of bumps. Of course, I realised, with tyres twenty feet or more in height, it would take a major irregularity in the runway to even register on the suspension. I sipped at my milk as the speed built up; beside me, Lisa was grinning with enjoyment._

_There seemed to be a little extra acceleration, but then I realised that the ground had tilted away; the nose was rising. The plane had almost reached flying speed. And then the ground was falling away; we were definitely higher up than we had been before._

_Even with the distant roar of the engines – they must have some serious sound insulation, I decided – the conversation among the other passengers in the observation gallery was brisk. I caught Lisa's eye._

_**Some way to ride, huh?**_

_She grinned. "Beats hell out of your usual airline seats."_

_**Just a bit more leg room,** I agreed. With some surprise, I found that I had finished my milk. **Wow, that was really nice.** Just as I began to look around for the steward once more, I found him at my elbow, with his tray ready to receive the empty glass._

_Lisa was still working at her drink, so I ordered a second chilled milk. When it arrived, Lisa looked up at the steward. "I'm curious. Do we have meals served to us here, or in our cabins?"_

"_Either, if you wish, ma'am," the steward told her politely. "But the dining room will be open in ten minutes, if you do not mind waiting."_

_Lisa and I shared a glance, then she looked back at the steward. "Dining room?" she enquired carefully._

"_Yes, ma'am," he confirmed. "When you wish to go there, just ask a steward."_

_He moved away to take another passenger's order, and I shook my head slowly. **Are we on a plane, or a cruise ship?**_

_Lisa grinned. "When you find out, let me know." She sipped at her drink. "They make a really good brandy Manhattan, though."_

_I drank more of my milk, gazing down at the landscape passing far below. Forest and farmland, with the occasional town. **I heard that the old zeppelins were like this, really luxurious, back in the day. Before the disasters, the Hindenberg and that other one, the British one.**_

"_Yeah," Lisa agreed. "Like the ones we saw, back at the airfield. But they wouldn't have anywhere near the passenger space this monster has."_

_I became aware of an odd intermittent buzzing sound. **Can you hear that?**_

_Lisa nodded. "But it's not here. It's your alarm clock."_

_**Great, **I muttered. **I must be waking up.**_

"_Kiss before you go?" Lisa leaned over; I kissed her. Her lips tasted of what I presumed was brandy and vermouth, as well as dust and blood. I closed my eyes and let the world fall away._

-ooo-

* * *

**Monday Morning, April 3, 1994**

* * *

Andrea circled me as I stood in the middle of the living room. "Wow, seriously, your dress uniform is _gorgeous."_

"Thanks," I told her. "It's not _the_ most comfortable, or practical, thing in the world to wear, but it does the job." I pulled at the cuffs of the midnight-blue jacket, against which the gold braid on the epaulettes stood out brilliantly, but the fit was already as good as it was going to get.

"And what job's that?" she asked. "To stand out in a crowd?"

"To show off the fact that the Captain is a decorated officer in the Parahuman Response Teams," Kinsey replied for me, as he came back in from the kitchen. "Your medals, ma'am."

I took the freshly polished decorations from him and carefully pinned them on, one at a time; against the dark cloth, the coloured ribbons stood out dramatically, and the mirror-bright brass gleamed in the overhead light.

Kinsey was looking scarcely less impressive in the enlisted dress uniform, a shade lighter blue than mine, with red cords looping through his epaulettes. He had his own medals, acquired during his years of service, each as carefully polished as mine were.

I picked up my peaked cap from the side table and turned it over in my hands. It had been carefully brushed of lint by Andrea, and the badge on the front shone as brightly as the rest of the brass on my uniform. Fitting it on to my head, I turned to Kinsey, who had just placed his beret on his freshly-trimmed scalp.

He looked me up and down, his eyes dissecting every element of my dress uniform, from the mirror-bright shoes to the gleaming badge on my cap. In my turn, I observed the razor-sharp crease of his trousers, the gleaming leather of his pistol belt, and the millimetric placement of his own medals.

Our eyes met; he clicked his heels to full attention, and his white-gloved hand came up in a salute. "Reporting for duty, _ma'am!"_ he barked, making Andrea jump.

I returned the salute. Our hands snapped down to our sides at the same time. "At ease, Sergeant."

"Thank you, ma'am," he responded, in a more normal tone of voice.

Andrea looked from me to Kinsey and back again. "So all that saluting and shouting and heel-clicking, that's what really happens all the time?" she wanted to know. "Or were you just putting on a show for me?"

"The saluting does happen, unless you're uncovered," I told her. "Or indoors, unless you're reporting to a senior officer. Which is what Kinsey just did. Personally, I think he just likes to salute me."

Kinsey chose to ignore my last statement, and carried on what I was saying. "When the Captain refers to being 'uncovered', she means not wearing headgear. Were either of us not wearing headgear, that person would offer a verbal salute instead."

"Ah," Andrea noted, looking somewhat enlightened. "Rules. Weird."

"That's the way of the world, sweetie," I told her. "As for the rest of it, including dress uniform, they are generally only brought out on ceremonial occasions. For the most part, it's more comfortable uniforms, and people speak in normal voices."

"Don't you get a sword or something?" Andrea's mind had flitted on to the next subject. "I saw a movie where they were wearing dress uniform, and they had swords."

"That was probably the Marines," Kinsey informed her. "They've got a history that goes back far enough that they did once wear swords. The PRT is less than two years old."

"You get a pistol belt," I pointed out. "I still think I should be able to wear my Glock."

"A weapon belt is not an accepted part of PRT dress uniform, at least for officers," Kinsey replied blandly. He turned to Andrea, and continued in a very slightly reduced tone of voice, "This shows who they actually trust with loaded guns, you see."

Andrea giggled. "Are you actually going to let him get away with _saying_ that?"

"Saying what?" I inquired. "I heard nothing." Pushing up my sleeve slightly, I checked my watch. "And on that note, I believe that it is time to attend Careers Day."

"Yay!" Andrea headed for the door. "You're gonna knock their socks off, I just know it!"

"Well," I sighed as Kinsey and I followed her, "we can only do our best."

-ooo-

The Winslow parking lot was full of cars by the time we got there, even though it was still relatively early. However, Kinsey managed to find a parking space just a little way down the block, and we got out and started walking. Habit and training let Kinsey and I fall into step almost automatically; we slow-marched toward the school, while Andrea trotted proudly alongside. Parents were just starting to arrive with their children, and we drew more than a few surprised glances.

The front doors were propped open, and a large signboard within showed a simplified map of the school. Certain classrooms were mapped out as places where talks would be held, but the main venue seemed to be the gymnasium. The restrooms and cafeteria were also prominently noted on the map.

"I'm thinking the gym," I decided. No-one argued, so I led the way.

On entering the gym, Andrea stopped short. "Whoaaa … " she breathed, looking around eyes wide.

I had to admit, the place looked nice. Far, far nicer than it ever had during my first go-around at Winslow, and it still matched up pretty well to my second tenure there. The walls had obviously been scrubbed, and possibly repainted into the bargain. Gaily coloured bunting hung everywhere it was possible to be hung, and large colourful signs advertised the various types of employment that could be had for the asking. Kiosks and stands had been set up; what had previously been an open, echoing space was now almost crowded. People were starting to filter through, though not as many as would be here later.

"Nice gym," Andrea commented.

"What, didn't you have a gym where you went to school?" I asked.

"Oh, we had one," she replied. "Just not this big."

"So where did you go to school anyway?" asked Kinsey. "In Brockton Bay, or elsewhere?"

"Oh, here in Brockton Bay," she assured us. "I … uh, I attended Immaculata."

I shared a glance with Kinsey, then turned back to Andrea. "I didn't know you were Catholic."

She grinned. "I'm not. My parents are. Especially my dad. They put me in that school to try to teach me how to be religious, modest, demure, restrained and, you know, straight."

Kinsey snorted. I was trying not to laugh myself. "I take it that it didn't really work?"

"Well, let's just say that when I went _in,_ I was only bi-curious," she informed us blithely. "I certainly got an education there, but not all of it was on the curriculum."

"Sounds like it," I agreed, working at keeping a straight face. "And you still got into college?"

"Oh, I was in no way a model student," she assured me cheerfully. "But that's not to say I didn't actually do the _work. _As for the rest of it … well, I looked at the way they were trying to force me to be, and I decided that I liked the other way better. First year of college, I met Anne-Rose, and the rest is history."

"Now _that's_ a story I'd be interested in hearing," I told her. "But … ah, here comes Gladys."

Gladys was done up to the nines; I must have spotted her just after she saw me, because she had only just started over toward us. Kinsey turned as well; Gladys stopped in front of us.

"Wow," she observed. "Nice. I'm almost jealous that I didn't go into the service myself, now."

"I know, right?" asked Andrea. "I mean, how awesome do they look?"

Gladys smiled at me; I returned it. "I'm glad you could be here, Taylor," she told me, her voice only just loud enough to reach my ears. "It means a lot to me."

I tilted my head. "Well, I told you I would," I reminded her. "And hey, that's what friends are for."

Our eyes met, and we shared a glance of understanding. Over the last few days, we had undergone more, faced dangers, taken risks, and it had strained our friendship almost to the breaking point. But we had emerged from the other side, hopefully stronger than ever.

"Come on," she told me. "Principal Woodbine's over here. He'll want to see you."

We followed her, the crowd parting around Kinsey almost like magic. Woodbine was talking to a man I recognised; Joe Campbell, the ex-Marine sergeant who had handled the JRTOC training course when Gladys and I went through it. Both men turned to look at us at the same time, and Woodbine's eyebrows rose. Then he came over to greet us, Campbell following behind.

"Captain Snow, good to see you," Woodbine greeted me. I shook his hand, then Campbell's.

"Sergeant Kinsey," I stated, "I'd like you to meet Principal Paul Woodbine, and Joseph Campbell. Joe did my JROTC training."

"Pleased to meet you, Sergeant." Woodbine shook Kinsey's hand, followed by Campbell.

The latter stared at me for a moment. "My god," he murmured. "I thought he was pulling my leg. Taylor Snow, as I live and breathe. Captain already."

"Special circumstances," I assured him. _"Very_ special circumstances."

Woodbine eyed my medals. "So I see. Is it just me, or are these all joint-service issue?"

I nodded. "Yes. We – that is, the PRT – haven't had the time to design and strike medals of our own, so, given that our core officers were drawn from all the services, we're using the joint-service medals for the time being."

"That makes a certain amount of sense," he agreed. "I recognise the Joint Service Achievement Medal, and the Defense Meritorious Service Medal, but not this last one, with the 'B' on the ribbon."

I went to answer, but my throat closed up; I couldn't speak. Kinsey glanced sideways at me. "If I may, ma'am?"

I nodded silently. Kinsey cleared his throat and went on. "That is the Defense Distinguished Service Medal; do you recognise it now, sir?"

Woodbine nodded, his eyes widening. "How in God's name did she get _that?"_

Kinsey lowered his voice slightly. "Captain Snow works for the PRT as an intelligence analyst. She received the medal for her contribution to the early detection and defeat of the Behemoth when it emerged in New York nine days ago. Thus, the 'B' device on the ribbon."

He looked meaningfully at the two men. "She prefers for the story not to be spread around."

Campbell's eyes opened wide, as did Woodbine's. "Good God," choked the former, staring at me. "You were _there?"_

"No." I swallowed, forcing the lump in my throat down and away. "I was in Chicago. People who faced the Behemoth got a special medal of their own. I just … contributed."

"From the look in your eye, young lady, you did a sight more than just 'contribute'," Woodbine told me. "And they don't hand out medals of that level for just doing your job. I'm proud of you. Very proud indeed."

I nodded. "Thank you, sir. I … wish I could have done more."

"I'm sure you did all you could," Woodbine assured me.

"I hope that's true," I told him. "Can we … not talk about that any more? Please?"

"Of course, of course," he agreed. I saw him looking around, as if to find something else to talk about, and his eye lit on Andrea. Immediately, he smiled. "Ah. Joe; this is the young lady I was telling you about. Andrea Campbell, correct?"

Andrea perked up. "That's me," she declared. She and the JROTC trainer sized each other up; the blocky ex-Marine and the petite redhead.

"Can't say I know you," Joe admitted eventually.

Andrea grinned. "I'm kind of the black sheep of the family. My parents' names are Gerard and Donna. That help?"

Something registered in Campbell's eyes. "Wait a minute. You're _their_ daughter? I heard they disowned their kid."

She shook her head cheerfully. "Nope. But they don't admit to me, either."

"Damn," he observed. "That's rough."

"Ahh, it's okay," she told him. "I've got friends who like me, and that's better than family who doesn't."

The grizzled veteran held out his huge paw; she took it, her hand more or less engulfed by his. "Well, I wouldn't do that to you, kid. So if you ever want to talk to family, you can come talk to me."

Andrea smiled. "Thanks, cousin Joe. I might just do that."

"We've got to move along now," Woodbine told me, "but I'll see you around." He gestured to the temporary stage that had been set up along one side of the gym. "Maybe you can say a few words later, about your time here, and about the PRT?"

"I … maybe," I temporised. This Careers Day had not yet turned out to be the unmitigated disaster that I had expected, but it was still early. No-one had suggested that a speech might be needed. In any case, I didn't much like making speeches; I was much better at just telling people what the hell to do. Back in the day, when I was Skitter, people did what they were told. It was much easier all round.

Woodbine obviously noted my discomfort with the idea. "Well, if you could just consider it, please?" he asked.

I nodded. "I don't promise anything, but I _will_ consider it," I assured him.

"Thank you. Captain. Sergeant. Mrs Knott. Ms Campbell." He nodded to each of us, and moved off; Campbell went with him.

"Well, _that_ was interesting," Gladys noted. "When were you going to tell me that you had something to do with the Behemoth fight?"

"I really don't like to talk about it. And I, uh, had other things on my mind at the time," I confessed.

"Such as a camping trip," Gladys observed. _Where we went and assassinated someone._ She didn't say it, but I could almost hear her thinking it.

"Well, I know that _I'd_ rather think about camping trips than the Behemoth," declared Andrea. "Oh hey, check it out!"

I followed her gaze, and saw, in one corner, a series of recruiting booths for the military. All the branches were represented; the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marine Corps, Coast Guard … and of course, the PRT.

* * *

As I had mentioned to Mr Woodbine, all of the original PRT officers and NCOs had been drawn from other services; after all, people were needed in place to handle the recruitment of new members. This would have had the unfortunate side-effect of creating an 'us vs them' mindset; the other services would have been worried that the PRT was drawing away their best prospects.

Which was a very real concern; in my day, international conflict had been almost at a standstill, given that Endbringer attacks and parahuman conflict had made a mockery of national differences. Defence spending had been directed away from the original five branches of the military, and poured into the PRT's discretionary budget, to pay for parahuman-caused damage, Endbringer attacks and the like. Of course, given the amount of damage caused by the Endbringers, or even a parahuman on a rampage, quite a lot of money was required by the PRT to keep things running.

* * *

Drawn more by curiosity than anything else, I approached the PRT booth, flanked by Kinsey and Andrea, with Gladys walking alongside the latter. The recruiting sergeant looked up as we approached; his eyes widened as he took in the uniforms. Coming to his feet, he snapped to attention and saluted.

I returned the salute and looked the man over; he seemed to be reasonably well-presented. "As you were, Sergeant," I greeted him. "How's business?"

He relaxed a little. "Not too bad, ma'am," he replied. "I get a bit of interest at things like this, but the return is about one in ten."

"That'll happen, I guess," I agreed. "People change their minds all the time."

He was frowning at me. "Captain … did you join up here in Brockton Bay? Because I have the strangest feeling that I've met you before."

I nodded. "Yes, Sergeant, I did. At the College."

"Hah!" exclaimed Andrea suddenly; we all looked at her. "It's him!" she told us, pointing at the recruiting sergeant. "It's the same guy! He's the guy who signed you up!"

I frowned, studying his face. "Really? That was you?"

Tentatively, but with growing certainty, the sergeant nodded. "I believe so, ma'am." He indicated Gladys and Andrea. "You had longer hair, but these ladies were with you then, as well."

I remembered the day, of course. Signing up to join the PRT had been a very large step in my life. But I could not recall the features of the recruiting sergeant; those of the drill, who had done his best to make our lives a misery in Boot, were much more firmly imprinted on my memory.

Still, I nodded. "If you say so, Sergeant." I extended my hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you again."

He shook it firmly. "And you too, Captain." A brief smile creased his face. "I recall being very impressed by your application. It looks like I was right to be."

The handshake over, I clasped my hands behind my back. "We all do what we have to do, Sergeant. You've got your job, and I've got mine."

"That's very true, ma'am." The sergeant nodded toward my uniform. "And may I say, meeting you has made my day."

"Thank you, Sergeant." I nodded to him, and we moved off again. As we did so, I saw two boys and a girl approach the booth; they began speaking to the recruiting sergeant while flicking glances my way.

Kinsey had also seen this. "You appear to be quite the advertisement, ma'am," he commented quietly. I knew him well enough to detect the note of amusement in his voice.

"Maybe it's not me they're looking at, Sergeant," I replied lightly. "I think those boys want to grow up to be you."

"The girl certainly wants to grow up to be you, Taylor," Gladys chimed in. "Or marry you, I'm not sure which."

There was a long moment of silence between the four of us, then Gladys, Kinsey, and I all looked at Andrea.

"What?" she asked innocently.

I raised an eyebrow. "What, no comment about marriage or threesomes or something? I can think of several you can use."

She grinned at me. "Why bother? You've already done all the hard work. You're all thinking about it, and I don't even have to say it."

Gladys' expression was just as chagrined as my own must have been. "You know, she's right. Just by having her here, I thought of all the off-colour things that she _might_ have said."

"Yes!" Andrea pumped her fist in the air. "I'm so good, I can tell dirty jokes without ever saying a word!"

_That's not **all** you can do without ever saying a word. _But I refused to say it out loud, as it would only prove her point.

"Hm." Kinsey's voice was thoughtful. "You never said that there would be reporters here."

All thoughts of Andrea's more esoteric talents vanished from my mind as I turned to look. "I didn't know. Gladys?"

"I wasn't told about it," she replied. "Must have been a last-minute thing."

"Which was why Woodbine wanted me to get up on stage," I realised. "I can just see the headlines; 'Winslow Girl Makes Good'. Great PR for the school."

I could see the reporters now; the crowd had thickened somewhat since we had entered the gymnasium, and they were circulating, talking to the older students, getting comments and recording soundbites for later. As such, they weren't particularly obvious, until a photographer got a picture of several students in front of a stall.

"So what's the problem?" asked Andrea. "They talk to you, you get your picture in the paper, it's a great way to spread the word about the PRT."

"Except that I'm not supposed to do any interviews without specific permission from my chain of command," I pointed out. "If I say something that's then taken out of context, all the trouble in the world then lands on me from a great height."

"The Captain is essentially correct," Kinsey added. "The PRT is still a very new organisation, and any adverse publicity could cripple it. So the media only gets access through authorised sources."

"Heads up," Gladys warned us. "Incoming."

I looked over; a couple of the journalists had spotted us, probably from my uniform, and were headed our way. "Great," I muttered.

"I'll stall 'em, you make a run for it," volunteered Andrea.

I sighed. "No, I'll handle this. Thanks, though."

"I thought you weren't supposed to talk to them?" she asked.

"No, just interviews," I corrected her. I couldn't say any more then, as the journalists had arrived. The taller one, a redhead, carried a notebook and a tape recorder; the other had several cameras on straps around his neck. He was stockier and older, and going bald on top. I made myself a private bet that the cameras were all of the film variety; like cellphones, digital cameras had yet to become mainstream in this day and age.

What worried me more was the bulky-looking video camera that was slung around the neck of the guy with the tape recorder. Pictures of me had to be vetted before they made it into the paper; footage had much more potential to be taken out of context.

"Hi there," the taller one greeted us. "I'm Les Jennings, and this is Carl Fogarty, from the Brockton Bay Bulletin. We're here doing a piece on the Careers Day, and when we saw you, we just couldn't resist coming over to say hello."

"Hello," I replied cautiously; after a moment, I added, "Captain Snow, PRT." I was fairly certain that while they could probably read rank insignia, they were unlikely to be able to figure out that I was Intelligence.

"Well, Captain, I'm very pleased to meet you," Jennings told me. "Is it all right if I interview you for the paper? After all, we don't have much of a PRT presence here in the city."

I took a deep breath. "Sorry, boys, but I'm not authorised to give interviews. Permission denied."

"All right then," he responded gamely. "How about we get some pictures of you in front of some of these stalls?"

I shook my head. "Again, sorry, no. I would allow photos with a neutral background, but nothing that would suggest that either of us is looking for new employment."

He was beginning to look a little frustrated, and I really didn't blame him. "Okay, just from personal curiosity. Why are you here? Like I said, Brockton Bay doesn't have a real PRT presence, and yet here you are, at a high school Careers Day, in what I would assume to be your dress uniform."

"It's a fair question," I allowed. "You don't print this, mind."

"Scout's honour," he agreed.

"Well, the truth is -"

I had been about to say _I'm here as a favour to a friend,_ but I was interrupted by a spreading series of gasps in the crowd. Kinsey, Gladys and I turned. "Well, shit," I muttered.

"Indeed, ma'am," agreed Kinsey.

"Fuck _me,"_ Gladys added.

"What's going _on?"_ asked Andrea. "I can't see."

I took a deep breath. "Marquis is here."

* * *

End of Part 4-6

* * *

_[Author's Note: I would have written more for this chapter, but to leave it here would be a cliffhanger, and evil. So that's what I'm doing.]_


	26. Chapter 26

/o\

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 4-7: Enemies Within and Without

* * *

He strode into the room like a conquering hero. Bony plates covered him like a living suit of armour, framed his face while obscuring a good part of it, and added to his height; he stood about seven feet tall, with crown-like protrusions around his head. Jagged spurs decorated his forearms and shoulders, making him look even more imposing.

Around him fanned out a dozen men, pushing the crowd back. They were snappily dressed in suit coats and ties, and wore black domino masks. Each of them carried a pistol or a shotgun in gloved hands. I had no doubt but that they wore body armour under the coats; the bulk was subtle, but it was there.

"Ma'am," murmured Kinsey, his hand on my arm. "We have to get you to cover before -"

"He's more likely to hurt you than me," I told him. "Give me your firearm and go make sure the recruiters don't do anything stupid. Gladys, Andrea, go with him."

"But -" began Andrea.

"_Go,"_ I snapped, keeping my voice low. She gave me a hurt look, but didn't argue; Gladys was already moving her away from me. I felt the worn grips of Kinsey's heavy semi-auto as he pressed it into my hand, then he was gone as well.

More and more people were realising what was going on. The closer people were falling back, while the ones farther back were hampering them by trying to rubberneck. This could get bad, and the presence of minions with guns wasn't going to improve matters in any measurable way. I had to get control of the situation, and fast.

Holding the pistol close to my body, I pushed my way through the steadily thickening crowd until I reached the makeshift stage. It was toward that which Marquis had also been making, I realised a moment later. However, I had gotten there first.

Scrambling on to the stage was the work of a moment, although my dress uniform made it more difficult than it should have been. Standing up, I surveyed the area; now I was a good four feet above everyone else, which gave me a view of everything that was going on. It also gave everyone a good view of me; this was something I was counting on. Plucking the microphone from the stand, I switched it on and turned toward the oncoming supervillain. In my right hand, I raised the pistol to point at the ceiling; I didn't want to look as though I was threatening anyone with it. Specifically, not Marquis himself; I didn't know exactly how far his code against hurting women extended.

"Marquis!" I called, the speakers booming the name across the room. "That's far enough."

He had spotted me already, of course. His men were closer to me than he was, and I saw gun muzzles swing my way.

"Everyone, sit down," I ordered. "Lie flat, if possible. This is for your own safety."

People were staring at me, but not actually moving, so I waved the pistol, once more not actually pointing at anyone. "Now!" I snapped.

Like wheat falling away before a scythe, people began to sit; those who found themselves on the edge of a steadily growing crowd of seated people sat down themselves. I turned my attention back to Marquis and his minions. "Not one step farther," I warned them. "And lower your guns. If I see a gun pointed at me after I've counted to three, I _will_ shoot that man. And I'm a good enough shot that I can pick which eye I shoot out." I paused for effect, then continued. "One."

Marquis stared back at me, as if trying to call my bluff. He said nothing.

"Two."

We matched gazes; I raised my arm, sighting on the nearest minion. I would have to headshot him, then drop flat.

Drawing a deep breath, I opened my mouth. "Thr-"

"Lower your guns!" shouted Marquis. Some hesitated, and my gun arm straightened. _"Now_, you idiots!_"_

Slowly, the guns were lowered, and he looked back toward me. I lowered the pistol, holding it alongside my leg. Even as I did so, his hands blurred, and suddenly there were three grey-white discs in the air; one heading directly toward me, and two arcing around to the left and right. I supposed that he was changing their shape on the fly, to alter their flight characteristics.

But that wasn't important; what _was_ important was that if those bone discs reached me, they would doubtless expand to enclose me, thus imprisoning me without doing significant harm. Fortunately, not all the target-shooting I had ever done was with static bullseye targets. Shooting skeet with a pistol is much harder than with a shotgun, but it can be done.

The discs went high, in ballistic arcs aimed to converge on me; this was good, because I needed to shoot over the heads of the crowd. I could have dodged, but he was equally likely to be able to alter their aerodynamics to follow. There was a loud boom through the sound system as I released the mic; dropping to one knee, I brought the pistol up, my left hand joining the right on the grip. This wasn't my favoured weapon of choice, but I was still reasonably good with it; Kinsey had made sure of that.

I fired three times; the report echoed back from the far walls each time. It was louder, the recoil heavier, than my little Glock, but it did the job. Each disc burst apart under the impact of a heavy slug; none had come closer than five yards. Down on the ground, people were screaming and cowering. _Good,_ I thought. _Stay down. Keep out of the way._

Hot brass rolled across the boards of the stage as I retrieved the microphone, stood up once more and returned my full attention to Marquis. He could have thrown more bone discs; I could have shot him. Neither of us acted for a long moment.

Then he nodded slowly, and folded his arms, a bone sceptre growing from his right hand. _Very well,_ he seemed to be saying. _You _**_are_**_ that good._

"What happens now?" he called out to me. "Are you arresting me?" His tone was almost amused.

"No," I replied. "I'm telling you to leave. Take your men and go."

A murmur ran through the crowd; it quieted immediately when he spoke once more. He could project his voice well; it helped that everyone was sitting. I, of course, had the advantage of a public address system.

"I believe that you're an officer of the Parahuman Response Teams," he called back to me.

"You believe correctly," I answered curtly.

"Where's the rest of your team?"

"I don't need it," I retorted. "Now, you need to _take your men_ and _go."_

"Not until I've done what I came here to do," he told me.

"Which is _what?"_ I asked, then immediately regretted it. He'd drawn me in, engaged me.

"This is Careers Day, of course," he responded immediately. "I wanted to put it out there that there are lucrative opportunities available in the employ of an alternatively styled businessman such as myself. I -"

"If you're going to do _that,"_ I interrupted him, "then you should have booked a kiosk. You didn't, so you're going to have to leave. Now."

"Who's going to make me?" he asked, faintly mockingly. "You?"

"If I have to," I responded grimly. "But in the meantime, someone _will_ have called the police, and they _will_ be on the way. Once they get here, this becomes a hostage situation, with women and children in the line of fire. Are you really going to chance that?"

I saw his expression change, behind the obscuring bone helmet. I had put my finger on his unwillingness to make war on women and children, and he didn't like it at all.

"Very well, if you're not going to give me a fair chance to speak my piece, then I shall indeed take my leave," he stated, managing to sound as though he were the injured party here. "But answer me two questions, Ms PRT officer, if you will?"

I eyed him. "Two questions, and then you leave."

"Without further delay," he assured me. "Because you don't want a hostage situation any more than I do."

I nodded; he had me there. "Fine," I replied. "Two questions. But I reserve the right to refuse to answer either one."

"That's fair," he agreed. "First question; what is your name? I have never met a PRT officer before, and you have raised my opinion of the organisation somewhat."

"I'm Captain Taylor Snow," I told him flatly. It would come out in the papers anyway, so there was no reason not to tell him. "Next question?"

I imagined that he was going to ask how I knew so much about him, but he managed to surprise me.

"Tell me, Captain Taylor Snow of the Parahuman Response Teams," he called to me, "you are an armed, trained member of a law enforcement agency. Why are you not attempting to arrest me? Isn't that the_job_ of the PRT?"

_Dammit._ Everyone was looking at me now. This had somehow turned into a debate. And I was damn sure that the journalists were recording everything. I doubted that I could legally confiscate those recordings before they made it into the media. So whatever I said next would have to sound good.

I took a deep breath, and looked him in the eye. "Despite what you may have heard, arresting parahuman criminals is _not_ the primary goal of the PRT."

Another murmur swept through the crowd; Marquis looked a little taken aback. _Good._

"It's not?" He sounded confused. "Then what is?"

"I'm glad you asked me that," I told him, thinking fast. _How do I say this?_ "The purpose of the PRT is to _stand between_ humans and parahumans."

"That's a very vague statement," he challenged me, obviously feeling more confident. "It could mean anything."

"No," I responded. "It means _something._ It means that when parahuman criminals such as yourself threaten normal people with harm, we stand in the way. It also means that when ignorant people victimise parahumans who only want to live in peace, we defend the parahumans." I took a deep breath.

"That's very -" he began.

"I _hadn't finished,"_ I snapped; my voice, electronically amplified, rolled over his. "It _also_ means that we stand between them in more peaceful arenas. If a civilian organisation wishes to contact a particular parahuman, then the chances are that we have his contact details on file. We will make the contact, and mediate the outcome. And if a parahuman wants to talk to someone in government, well, we're a government body. We can make that happen." I paused. "Now, have I answered your question?"

"Not really," he replied. "It doesn't explain why you aren't attempting to arrest me."

"Because right now there are a lot of civilians at risk if any sort of firefight breaks out," I told him flatly. "My focus is not on arresting you; it's on protecting them. So it's better for everyone all round if you just leave."

"What if I instructed my men to take hostages?" he asked, mocking again. "No women or children, of course."

"I would shoot your men. You know I'm that good." My voice was flat and uncompromising. "Now, for the last time, leave this school or I start shooting them anyway." I began to lift the pistol. "Or perhaps you. Your choice."

He raised a hand. "You would shoot us, when we're not threatening you?"

My voice was hard and flat. "I'm authorised to use lethal force in the defence of others. _And I will use it."_

A tilt of the head. "You've made your point, Captain Snow. My men and I will be vacating the premises. You won't attempt to attack us?"

I shook my head. "I just want you out of here."

He nodded toward me, almost a bow. "Very well, I shall take my leave. It has been an … interesting experience, meeting you. Perhaps we will meet again, someday."

"Maybe we will," I agreed. "And maybe on that day I _will_ arrest you."

"We shall see, Captain Snow. We shall see." He gestured his men out first, then gave me another slight bow, before stepping out of sight.

Camera flashes went off, outlining me on the stage, before I could put down the microphone, or lower the pistol. _Great,_ I told myself. _That's going to look really good on the front page of the paper. Me with a gun in my hand. So much for keeping a low profile._

"Captain Snow!" called out one of the journalists. "Can you -"

"Not now!" I called back, vaulting down off of the stage. People were starting to rise, moving toward me. I waved them away. "Stay in this room!" I told them. "Do _not_ follow me!" Then I tossed the microphone back on to the stage.

Pistol in hand, I made for the doors. Pushing through them, pistol up and ready, I found the corridor empty. However, I could hear retreating footsteps, so I followed along. I didn't _think_ that Marquis would pull any trickery, but nor was I willing to bet that he wouldn't. As it happened, my fears were unfounded; as I reached the main exit to the school, the last of his men were piling into a pair of nondescript vans. They roared out of the parking lot; I tried to make out the license plates, but they were obscured.

-ooo-

When I got back to the gymnasium, Kinsey was waiting for me, along with Principal Woodbine and Joe Campbell; the latter held an automatic pistol that could have been twin to the one that I carried. The doors were closed; inside, I could hear agitated voices.

"They're gone, ma'am?" asked Kinsey.

"They're gone, sergeant," I affirmed, handing his weapon back. "Thank you for that." I gestured to Campbell's weapon. "You're not going to be needing that, Mr Campbell," I advised him.

"Oh, good," he replied, looking more than a little relieved.

"In fact," I added, "you might want to go and put that away before the police get here."

Woodbine nodded. "Go on, Joe," he agreed. "Captain Snow and I can handle it from here."

As the ex-sergeant hurried away, Kinsey turned to me. "You took a tremendous chance there, ma'am," he told me reprovingly as he replaced his pistol in its holster. "What if he'd had his men shoot you?"

I shook my head. "He wouldn't have. Marquis doesn't make war on women or children. It's a code he adheres to most strictly."

"Really?" asked Woodbine. "How do you even know that?"

I shrugged and gave him a small smile. "PRT Intelligence. I am actually good at my job."

From the look on his face, he knew that I was trying to pull the wool over his eyes, but he let it go. "And what if one of his men had fired without orders?" asked Kinsey. "Because you know that happens too, ma'am."

"Unlikely," I decided. "He keeps a very strict control over his men. They don't screw up twice."

He frowned. "Still, you took a chance. You could easily have gotten hurt."

"Civilians were at risk," I told him. "Innocents. I couldn't let that happen. Not again."

He shook his head. "Innocents are _always_ going to be in danger in our line of work, ma'am. We have to establish priorities. You and your work are a priority."

He was right, of course, even if I didn't want to admit it to myself. If I was going to get the job done, I would have to learn to accept that innocent casualties were a fact of life. In fact, I would be inflicting some of those casualties myself. I _had_ inflicted some, on the Heartbreaker mission. The men I had killed had, one and all, been Mastered by Vasil, and had no choice in the matter. And what I was planning to do in the future ...

I didn't want to think about that right now, so I looked at Woodbine. "The police _have _been called, right?"

The principal nodded. "Joe and I were just coming back from the cafeteria when we saw them going in. He realised something was wrong, so I called the police. We heard the shots, but Sergeant Kinsey says that nobody was hurt. What happened?"

"That was me doing the shooting," I explained. "Self-defence, you might say. You'll have bullet-holes in the walls to deal with, nothing more."

He rubbed his chin. "Much easier to deal with than bullet-holes in people." A frown. "Still, I'm not thrilled that you opened fire in the middle of a crowded gymnasium."

"I'm not happy about it, either," I agreed. "But I didn't see an alternative."

"An alternative to what?" he asked.

"Letting him take me prisoner."

"That's what he was trying to do?"

"If I hadn't fired, I would currently be encased in a block of bone on that stage," I stated, "and Marquis would still be in there, playing to the crowd."

"And you're sure -"

Kinsey cleared his throat. "Sir, if the Captain says that's so, then it is so." He indicated the doors to the gymnasium. "They're getting fairly restless in there. You may want to think about going in there and talking to them."

"You're right, of course," I told him. "Stay out here, sergeant, and make sure nobody leaves."

"Ma'am," he acknowledged.

Woodbine and I pushed the doors open and almost immediately, we were faced with dozens of concerned faces; a babble of voices swept over us.

"What's going on?"

"Are they gone?"

"Where are the police?"

I tried to speak, but couldn't make myself heard over the din. Woodbine straightened his back, inflated his lungs, and bellowed, "QUIET!"

I spoke into the shocked silence that followed. "Thank you, Principal Woodbine. Yes, Marquis is gone. It is safe. I would, however, suggest that you all stay here for the moment; the police will be arriving soon, and they'll be wanting to get statements from everyone."

"Talking about a statement," a familiar voice arose, as the red-haired journalist pushed his way to the front of the crowd, "can you give us one now, on your opinion of what happened just before?"

"Mr Jennings," I replied, not letting my exasperation show. "I told you before; I'm not giving interviews."

"But you've already _given_ one," he pointed out. "Or at least, you've espoused your opinion of the PRT's role in parahuman affairs in a public forum. Which I kind of recorded. I was just wondering if you wanted to give us anything on the record regarding what you said, or your opinion on Marquis' motives."

I gritted my teeth. "What if I told you not to publish what I've already said?" I asked.

He shrugged. "It was spoken out loud in a public forum. I have no doubt that others also recorded it, and they will likely be publishing it. Even if you tell them not to, that won't have force of law."

"Great," I muttered. "So how do I get out of this with the least damage to the PRT?"

He gestured behind him, at the stage. "Get up there and make a statement. Take a few questions. Explain why you did what you did. Take charge of public opinion and turn it to your side." His eyes met mine. "Trust me, what you did up there? I think it was all kinds of badass. But others might decide that you were grandstanding, and risking everyone's lives. So don't ignore them. Give them something to think about, instead."

I grimaced, and glanced at Woodbine. He shrugged very slightly, but it was certainly not a negative gesture. Jennings had a point; the can of worms was well and truly open, and my best bet was to add some shape to what people were going to say about what had happened.

I nodded. "Fine. Just a short interview. But I'll ignore any questions I don't like."

Jennings grinned engagingly. "That's okay. We just make up our own answers to questions like that, anyway."

Suddenly deciding that I would answer each question to the best of my ability, I headed over to the end of the stage where steps had been set up; this would have made it much easier to get up there, before. As I climbed the steps, with Woodbine following me, I wished that it didn't feel quite so much like walking to the gallows. The microphone was still lying where I had dropped it. I picked it up and tapped it; it responded with a hollow thud from the speakers. It was still live.

Taking a deep breath, I eyed the crowd. They were milling about, watching me a trifle warily. I moved my foot, and kicked an errant shell-casing, which rolled a foot or so before stopping.

"It's okay, folks," I told them. "There's not going to be any more shooting."

A nervous laugh rippled through the crowd, and I could see the journalists in the front row pointing cameras and their own microphones at me.

"Why _were_ you shooting?" asked Jennings. _Oh, good; a softball question._

"Marquis is a bone manipulator," I explained. "Those discs he threw at me were composed of that material. If they had reached me, they would have expanded into a cage, trapping me."

That question released the floodgates; there was a babble, until I pointed out another journalist, a severe-looking woman. "Yes?"

"Surely he could have thrown more than those three discs, or imprisoned you in some other way," she declared. "Why do you think he did not?"

"I believe that it was in the way of being a test," I replied thoughtfully. "I had claimed to be a good shot; if I was bluffing, he would have found out. I wasn't bluffing, so he decided not to press the issue."

"If you're such a good shot, why didn't you just shoot _him?"_ This time, the question wasn't from one of the journalists, but from a man farther back in the crowd, perhaps from one of the business kiosks.

"He was armoured in bone," I explained. "The only part of him showing was his face. I couldn't count on shooting him somewhere non-lethal, and he was going out of his way not to harm me. Besides, if I'd shot him, there would be nothing holding his men in check. I preferred to make him leave instead. That way, no-one got hurt."

Another babble of questions. I pointed down at Jennings. "Yes?"

"Why do you think he didn't use an immediately lethal attack on you? Or stay to make this a hostage situation?"

I knew why, of course, but it wasn't something I was willing to just put out there for everyone to hear. "He wasn't here to start a fight, or to kill anyone," I temporised. "He was here to do exactly what he said; to put the word out that he was hiring, that working for a supervillain is a valid alternative to more legal work, and pays better." I knew, but didn't say, that the formation of the Boat Graveyard would make this sort of thing much more common in years to come.

"And you're saying that it's _not_ a valid alternative?" asked the severe-looking woman.

"Oh, it's an _alternative," _I told her. "But working for any criminal gang has its risks. The Teeth aren't people you want to go anywhere near. The Empire Eighty-Eight demands that its members prove their loyalty by beating up a member of a minority, and sometimes the victim dies. Galvanate was Mob, back in the day, and he treats his men the same way. Marquis' organisation may be the most civilised, relatively speaking, but if any member of the gang disappoints him in any significant fashion, they _disappear._ They're never seen again. You might say that it's an extremely _final_ retirement plan."

There were thoughtful looks throughout the crowd at this; I wondered how many teenage boys had been pondering the option of supervillain employment. Then I wondered if Marquis even took on women as minions; they would be hard to discipline in his traditional way. It was something I would have to ask Lisa about.

"Marquis asked you where the rest of your team was," posited another journalist. "Is the PRT establishing a presence in Brockton Bay?"

"Not right at this very moment," I replied. "In a few years, once we have our numbers up, certainly. You understand that I can't give you any more details than that, but the PRT _will_ be coming here."

Jennings again. "So why are _you_ here, today, in dress uniform, if you aren't here as part of an official PRT contingent?"

I recognised the question from before; I had just been about to answer it when Marquis had interrupted us. "I attended Winslow myself, a few years ago," I answered him. "A friend of mine, who attended at the same time as myself, is a teacher here. When she found out that I was back in town on leave, she asked if I would attend Careers Day, as a favour to her. And so, here I am."

The severe woman was back. "You look very young to be a Captain in any organisation. May I ask how old you are?"

"Only if I can ask how old _you_ are," I shot back; there was a titter of laughter around her. "My age is in the official record, as are other details about me. I will not answer personal questions, nor any that pertain directly to my service with the PRT; those, you're going to have to go and find out for yourselves."

"But what if they won't release that information?" That was the third journalist.

I fixed him with a stern gaze. "Then they doubtless have a reason for it. The PRT was not formed on a whim, sir. There are real dangers out there in the world. The job of the Parahuman Response Teams is to protect humanity from those dangers and from each other. We're here to protect _you_. Do not begrudge us the tools to do so."

Another babble of questions was thrown at me, but I waved my hand, cutting them off. "That's all, thank you. I believe I hear sirens now; the police are almost here. They will probably be wanting statements from everyone. I myself will be speaking to them, probably at some length. So if you'll excuse me."

I handed the microphone to Woodbine, who began speaking immediately. "And that's Captain Taylor Snow, ladies and gentlemen. I remember when she first came to Winslow. She got in trouble for fighting with other girls – protecting a friend from bullies, as I recall – so I suggested that she join our JROTC program. Well, as you can see … "

I tuned him out as I bent and retrieved the spent brass, cupping the cartridge cases in my gloved hand. They reeked of burnt propellant, as no doubt the pistol did. Looking around, I could not see the exact places where my bullets had struck the walls, but they were there, I knew.

When I stepped down off the stage, with Woodbine still talking me up, they made way for me. Gladys and Andrea were waiting, worry evident in their eyes. I was just glad that Danny and Anne-Rose had not been here as well; I did not need more of my friends in danger.

"How much trouble are you going to get in for this?" asked Andrea, cutting straight to the chase.

"That remains to be seen," I evaded, moving toward the doors. Kinsey was still outside; as I got closer, someone opened the door, came face to face with my burly orderly, and decided that he didn't need to go outside quite so badly after all.

Andrea wasn't being fobbed off so easily. "So are we talking slap on the wrist bad, or booted out of the PRT bad?" she pressed.

I gave her a wry grin. "Probably not the latter, but yeah, I'm thinking the slap on the wrist is gonna sting pretty badly."

Gladys grimaced. "I wish I'd never asked you to do this. Now you're in trouble for doing the right thing."

"I'm not in trouble _yet_," I told her. "It all depends on how seriously the local police take it. They may also do a wrist slap, or they may decide to make an example out of me. Hopefully, the fact that Marquis is a known supervillain will work in my favour."

"Or because he's a local, it might not," Gladys added pessimistically.

"_I'm_ a local," I pointed out. "Well, mostly."

"You're also a member of the PRT," Gladys noted. "Which hasn't been around long enough to get much of a good reputation."

"Or a bad one," I replied.

She shook her head. "I'm willing to bet that there's already a whispering campaign. The PRT's treading on a lot of toes with its mandate. And if public opinion decides that you're a gun-crazy maniac, the PRT might just opt to cut you loose rather than let you drag them down."

I couldn't see them doing that. I _could,_ however, see them putting me under much stricter oversight, which I needed as much as I needed a nine millimetre hole between the eyebrows. To avoid that particular fate (or, in much worse circumstances, the other one), I was going to have to be as polite and cooperative as I could, and hope that it was good enough.

-ooo-

_I blinked and looked around. Lisa and I sat in a well-appointed dining room; silverware clinked against delicate china as those around us applied themselves to their meals. A cellist in the corner added soft, gentle music to the background hum of light conversation._

_Before me was a plate bearing the White Star logo, along with the Latin phrase _**_Ad Astra Per Aspera_**_ around the rim. On it, surrounded by artistically arranged salad, and with some sort of sauce drizzled over it, was a large fish; the odour that arose from it was heavenly. To one side was a wineglass half full of white wine._

**_Wow, holy crap,_**_ I murmured, doing my best to keep my voice down. _**_Are we still on the plane, or did we land?_**

"_Still on the plane," Lisa confirmed cheerfully. "See these wineglasses? Crystal, no less." She flicked hers with her fingernail, and it rang pure and clean._

_I looked around again. The room wasn't huge, but nor was it particularly cramped. The chairs were elegantly crafted from a fine-grained wood, and each table was covered with a snow-white linen cloth. Waiters moved among the diners, bearing silver trays of drinks. Above, on balconies surrounding the lower section of the dining hall, I could see more tables and more people eating._

**_I wouldn't have believed it._**_ I shook my head, then looked very closely at the wine in my glass. There were the faintest of concentric ripples in it; vibrations of the engines, transmitted through whatever deadened the sound, showing up in the subtlest of forms._

"_Try the fish," Lisa urged me. "It's delicious."_

_Reminded once more of the delicious odours, my stomach growled loudly; Lisa grinned. I actually felt hungry as I picked up my knife and fork; Lisa's dreamweaving capabilities were getting very impressive indeed._

_The fish – I thought it might be salmon, or something like that – fell apart under the slightest pressure of my fork. It was firm enough, however, to lift to my mouth, where my tastebuds exploded in glorious ecstasy. Several more forkfuls followed in quick succession; the texture was smooth and rich, the sauce delicious._

"_Try the wine," Lisa suggested. "It's supposed to go well with it."_

_I was dubious – my experiences with alcohol had rarely been positive – but the fish was heavenly, and so I was willing to try the experience. Besides, this was all in my head. Not much was likely to happen here._

_Picking up the wineglass, I took a sip, and my eyebrows rose. _**_That's really good,_**_ I murmured. The wine complemented the slight spiciness of the sauce, and my estimation of the meal rose several more notches._

_We sat, and we ate, and we sipped at our wine. The atmosphere around us was convivial, and I heard more than one person make comments about the fish that echoed my own opinion. Had it been a real fish, I decided, it would not have died in vain._

**_So tell me,_**_ I commented. _**_Marquis. Why didn't you give me a heads-up?_**

"_Would it have made a difference?" she replied with a mischievous grin. "You still handled it."_

**_I don't like being blindsided like that,_**_ I grumped. Then I popped another piece of fish in my mouth, and immediately felt better. It was that good._

"_Look, in the original timeline, he showed up, intimidated everyone, made his speech, and left. The Brockton Bay PD took a PR hit. So did the PRT, for not having people on site at the time. With you there, the PRT actually shows up in a good light."_

**_So does the PRT end up in Brockton Bay sooner now?_**

_She tilted her head. "Not really. But they're seen in a better light. The gangs won't be quite so defiant toward them."_

**_I suppose that's a good thing. _**_Something occurred to me. _**_When I leave, will the PRT take a hit?_**

_She grinned. "It depends on how they choose to spin it."_

**_Always comes down to that, doesn't it?_**

"_Indeed it does."_

_I recalled something else. _**_About Marquis' recruiting practices -_**

_Lisa rolled her eyes. "He doesn't recruit women. Except, you know, as girlfriends. He treats them well, until he tires of them, then he sends them on their way."_

_My tone was sarcastic. _**_Great guy._**

"_Well, at least he doesn't kill them and disappear their bodies."_

**_There is that._**

-ooo-

_Every meal, however delicious, does come to an end; the time arrived when I lifted the last forkful of piscine delight to my mouth, downed the last of the wine. The plates, along with the remnants of our meals, were whisked away by a discreet waiter, while another one placed dessert before us._

_This appeared to be a peach-flavoured concoction soaked in some sort of brandy. My initial tasting was tentative, if only because I wasn't sure if I had room for anything else inside me. And then the dessert hit my taste buds, and they declared that there'd better be room for this, or they'd go down and make room._

_I ate the dessert slowly and steadily. I'm not the biggest eater – I'm not the biggest _**_person_**_ – and so I had to let things settle. In addition, it let me savour the taste of every spoonful. Lisa powered through hers, and got seconds; I was intensely envious. When at last I finished mine, and let out a discreet belch, I could distinctly taste peach and brandy on my breath._

**_I think, _**_I murmured to Lisa, _**_that I'm going to need to have a lie down after this. Or maybe just curl up and hibernate for the rest of the trip._**

_She chuckled. "What, and miss these meals?"_

_I thought about that. _**_Good point. Just a lie down then._**

_She went to rise, and clutched at the table, before sitting down again. "Wow, did the plane just bank then?"_

_I was still sitting, working at mustering the resolve to rise. _**_Nope. Perfectly steady. I think you had too much brandy peach whatever it was._**

"_Huh. Wow. Whoo." She tried again, and this time made it to her feet. "I think you're right. I've had a little too much."_

_I made it to my feet the first time around. My head was spinning a little, but apparently not as much as Lisa's. I'd been drunker than this before now. Not that I was thrilled with the idea of being this drunk, even in a dream._

**_Probably those brandy Manhattans you had earlier, too, _**_I pointed out. _**_You lush, you._**

"_Oh, shut up, Taylor," Lisa told me, then promptly hiccuped. To her increasing annoyance, and to my increasing amusement, she kept hiccuping, so much so that I was the one who had to summon a waiter to fetch a steward for us._

"_Hiccuping is a psychosomatic reaction," she declared between hiccups as we weaved down the passageway behind the impassive steward; or rather, Lisa weaved, and I corrected her trajectory. "It should be simple for the prepared mind to overcome it, and stifle the reaction at its core."_

**_Well, it doesn't seem to be working so far,_**_ I remarked with a grin. _**_Are you sure you're applying all of your mind?_**

"_Taylor," Lisa hiccuped – I hadn't known that it was possible to hiccup someone's name - "if you weren't my dearest friend, I would smack you."_

**_That and if you weren't plastered on brandy Manhattans and peach desserts,_**_ I replied, grinning even more broadly._

_We had attained a familiar stretch of corridor; I saw our door ahead of us. Between ourselves and the door, however, was another passenger, currently leaning against his own door, apparently trying to fit his key into the lock._

_**Looks like you're not the only one the worse for wear,**__ I commented to Lisa as the steward moved forward to ask the man if he needed help._

_Blearily, Lisa focused on him. "He's not drunk," she stated clearly. At that moment, the steward touched the man on the shoulder. It was only a light touch, but it disturbed some sort of equilibrium, so that the man twisted away from where he had been leaning into his door frame, and landed with a muted thud on his back._

_Protruding from his abdomen, angled downward, was the hilt of some sort of knife. The man's hands were clutching at it, and there was a large bloodstain in the clothing around it._

**_He's -_**

"_Dead," Lisa confirmed._

_I helped her closer; the steward was staring, obviously not sure of what to do next. Reminded of our presence, he tried to gesture us away. "No, this is no sight for a lady," he protested._

"_Nonsense," Lisa declared with drunken enthusiasm. "I am the honourable Annalisa Wilbourn, and this is my travelling companion, the equally honourable Taylor Anne Hebert. We are consulting detectives, and we have seen more dead bodies than you have had hot meals, my good man."_

_Well, the 'seen more dead bodies' part was probably true, I mused. An Endbringer battle or two will do that for you. As for 'honourable', that was up for debate._

_He blinked. "Well, I'll have to tell the Captain for sure. And find something to cover the body."_

**_Block off the corridor,_**_ I suggested. _**_There may be evidence._**

" … _evidence. Right, yes, yes, at once," he agreed, and hurried off._

_I looked at Lisa. _**_Consulting detectives?_**_ I asked. _**_Really?_**

"_Well, I'm the closest they've got to a Holmes, here and now," she pointed out._

**_But you're _****plastered****_,_**_ I countered._

"_So get me into our room and get me sober," she told me._

**_That'll take way too long._**

_She grimaced. "Yes, it will. We're going to have to cheat."_

**_Cheat? How?_**

"_You're going to have to wake up. When you come back, I'll be sober." She grabbed me and kissed me; her lips tasted of brandy dessert. Nothing else happened._

_She stared at me. "You were supposed to wake up when I kissed you."_

**_You surprised me. I wasn't ready._**_ This time, I kissed her; again, the taste of the brandy dessert. But as I closed my eyes and let myself sink away, there came the taste of dust and blood._

-ooo-

I opened my eyes; I was leaning back in a chair in the corner of a police interview room. For a moment, I was confused, and then memory flooded back. The police had arrived at Winslow, and I had presented myself to them. They had been understandably unhappy about the firearms aspect, and had taken me into custody.

However, they had been polite about it, and I had not been put in a cell. Instead, I was in an interview room, in a reasonably comfortable chair. They hadn't handcuffed me, and I didn't even think that the door was locked. However, Detective Kimball had left me alone, and so I had decided to meditate to pass the time. Before I began my meditation, I had moved the chair into the corner so as to distance myself from the microphones built into the table.

Now that I was back in the real world, I found myself noticing a few twinges in my muscles. Standing, I began to stretch and twist, within the limits imposed on me by the dress uniform, working out the cramps. I was halfway through one such twist when the door opened; I completed the twist, popping two of my vertebrae, then turned to see who it was.

It was a man in a suit; I didn't recognise him. He wasn't one of the officers who had attended the school, and he wasn't the detective who had questioned me.

"Yes?" I asked.

"You're free to go," he informed me. "The paperwork's all sorted out. Come with me, and we'll get you out of here."

I walked around the table, then paused. This seemed suspiciously easy. "Who are you, exactly?" I asked.

"What?" He stared at me. "You're honestly asking who I am, when I'm telling you that you're free to go?"

"Yes, I am," I confirmed. "You're not a police officer, and you're not a detective, or you would've shown me a badge by now. So who _are_ you?"

Frowning in annoyance, he dug out his wallet, and showed me an ID. It was a PRT ID, his name was Travers, and he was a Major.

I came to attention, but I didn't salute, as my cap was currently on the table behind me. "Major Travers," I acknowledged.

"Captain Snow," he responded. "Now that we have established relative pay grades, I am ordering you to accompany me from this police station. Is that clear?"

"Sir, it is clear, except for a few points," I replied, retrieving my cap. "What's happening to Sergeant Kinsey?"

"The police are holding him for the duration," he informed me. "Now _come on,_ Snow."

"Sir, I can't leave," I protested. "Kinsey is my orderly. I'm responsible for him. More specifically, I'm responsible for him being in this mess."

"For God's sake!" he snapped. "Kinsey is no longer your orderly, by my authority, as of right now. Now I'm ordering you to accompany me. You'll be assigned another orderly when we get to where we're going." He seemed to be really anxious for us to be going; my suspicions increased.

I decided to try an experiment. Moving alongside him as we left the interview room, I asked a question. "Where are we going to, sir?"

He pretended not to hear me. _So that's how it is._

I stopped dead, in the middle of the police station. He stopped also, and turned, with an annoyed expression. "Snow, God help you, you're this close to being up on an insubordination charge."

"Sir," I stated firmly, "you didn't answer my question."

His annoyed expression intensified. "One, you don't need to know. Two, these civilians _definitely_ don't need to know."

"Is it Chicago?" I challenged. "Because they _know_ I came from there. Sir."

His lips tightened, and his face began to turn red. "Snow!" he barked. "Attention!"

Automatically, I came to attention. Travers came and stood within inches of me. "You _will not_ ask questions. You _will not_ query orders. You _will_ do as you are told. Is that absolutely clear, _Captain?"_

"Sir, no, sir!" I barked back. He stared, and I took advantage of his momentary confusion. "If I am being transferred from Chicago, then I need to know, sir!"

Travers ground his teeth. "Then _yes, _Captain, you are being transferred from Chicago."

I spoke quickly. "Is this a valid order, _sir?"_

He stared at me. "What in God's name – of _course_ it's a valid order, Snow! I am your superior officer, and I'm relaying it to you."

I met his eyes and held them. "Is Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton aware of this order, sir?"

His gaze flickered, just for an instant, and I had my answer. "He's not, is he?"

"It doesn't matter, Captain Snow," he snapped, recovering his composure. "I'm here, and he's not. I'm ordering you to accompany me to our destination."

"No, sir," I told him softly. "His orders predate yours, and he outranks you. I _will not_ accompany you, not unless the Lieutenant-Colonel is contacted, and does not countermand the order."

"Oh, for God's sake!" he snapped, and grabbed my arm.

No doubt he considered that as a tall man – a few inches taller than me – and broad in the shoulders, he would easily be able to force me to go with him. What he didn't take into account was the fact that for some time, I had been taking regular sessions with Kinsey, who had once been responsible for training MPs in hand to hand combat.

I broke his grip, grabbed _his_ arm, and threw him. It wasn't a perfect throw, given that there were desks in the way, and I was somewhat hampered by my dress uniform, but it did the job. Travers ended up on the floor, on his knees. I released his arm and stepped back.

"Back off, sir," I warned him. "Until I find out what's going on around here, I'm not going _anywhere."_

Breathing heavily, he clambered to his feet, glaring at me. "That's _it, _Snow," he grated. "By the time I've finished with you, you're going to be court-martialled down to _private._ Insubordination plus assault on a superior officer, with witnesses." He moved toward me.

I stepped back. "I'm not so sure that you're really a superior officer," I warned him. "You're not in uniform, and it's not so hard to fake a PRT ID. Take that away, and this becomes attempted abduction of a PRT intelligence officer."

"Hey!" came a shout across the room. "What the hell's going on here?" It was an older guy, balding and paunchy. He wore the same sort of suit as Travers, but with a much more generous cut.

Travers turned his head, while keeping me in his line of sight. "Who wants to know?"

"Captain Peterson! I run this precinct! Who the hell are you, and why are you brawling in my station?"

Travers flicked out his ID. "Major Travers. PRT business, Captain. Stay out of it." He made a move toward me; I backed away again.

"Like hell I will." Peterson gestured to the officers in the room; up until this moment, they had been standing, staring, at our altercation. "Take them both into custody. We'll get this sorted out."

"Uh, Captain?" I ventured. "I was already _in_ custody. Detective Kimball was talking to me."

Peterson focused on me. "Oh, right. You're the PRT officer who faced down Marquis. Go back to your interview room and wait; I'll send someone to find Kimball." He gestured at Travers. "Take him into custody until we find out who he is and what he's doing here."

I watched Travers' eyes; for a moment, it seemed that he was going to do something dramatic, but then he reined himself in. "This isn't over, Snow," he told me coldly, as two officers closed on him.

"Actually, it is," I heard from behind me. I turned; the amused voice belonged to Detective Kimball, who had spent some time interrogating me. He raised an eyebrow. "Why, Captain Snow," he greeted me. "What are you doing out of your interview room?"

-ooo-

Kimball handed me a cup of tea, which I accepted gratefully. I sipped it; it wasn't great, but it was hot and sweet, so I drank it anyway. He sat down opposite me and dropped two folders on the table; Kinsey stood off to the side, hands clasped behind his back.

"Sorry about the delay," Kimball told me. "I spoke to Sergeant Kinsey at length, and then I interviewed several of the people who were there. Finally, I had to get in touch with your commanding officer. He filled me in some more about who you were, what you were like, and just how important you are to the PRT."

I felt a flush rising in my cheeks. "So what's the overall verdict?"

Kimball's tone was wry. "It was his considered opinion that if you chose to fire off a pistol in the middle of a crowded room, whilst confronting a supervillain, then you undoubtedly had a very good reason for doing so. That's a direct quote, by the way."

"It does sound like the Lieutenant-Colonel, yes," I murmured, and sipped at my tea.

Kimball cleared his throat. "While there are those among us who are less than pleased at the firearms discharge, the fact does remain that you are obviously well-trained with pistols, and are authorised to carry concealed. Also, I am informed that PRT regulations allow you to use lethal force at your discretion when facing parahuman threats."

"Subject to the amount of force that I'm facing, yes," I agreed.

He nodded. "On the other hand, you are currently off duty. In addition, you're on leave. Medical leave, in fact, following a minor mental breakdown." His look conveyed curiosity.

I swallowed. "Behemoth," I whispered.

A double blink. "Oh. Of course. Well, then. That would be enough to give anyone a breakdown. However. I question the wisdom of going armed when you're currently recovering from such a traumatic experience."

I roused myself. "I wasn't armed. Kinsey was. I -"

"Yes, yes, I know," he interrupted. "But I've also gotten the report about what happened in Batavia. Killed one man, crippled another. You're very quick to resort to firearms, aren't you?"

I took a deep breath. "Detective Kimball. I'm an officer in the PRT. We're a paramilitary organisation, designed to deal with – and work with – people with parahuman abilities. Usually, very _dangerous _abilities. I'm trained to assess a situation and respond accordingly. Sometimes, talking works. Other times, I've got to make the call to pull a trigger, and I have to hope I get it right every time. I don't _like _killing. I don't _enjoy_ it. But I won't shrink from it if I have to do it."

"Well, you _did_ hand over the firearm and cartridge cases, and submit yourself for GSR testing immediately," he admitted. "It's not like you were trying to hide the fact of what you had done. And both your commanding officer and your sergeant have assured me that the only way you were going to hit someone in that crowd was if you intended to hit them. So I'm inclined to accept that you were as responsible as you could have been in the situation, and if you hadn't acted, then it may have been a lot worse."

"Thank you," I began. "I -"

"I'm not finished," he interrupted. "What's the situation with this Major Travers? Where does he come into it? And why were you fighting in the middle of the precinct?"

I sighed. "One of two explanations. One is that he's a phoney. Someone pretending to be a PRT officer, so he can abduct me clean out of the station."

He frowned. "Who would do something like that?"

"I have a certain amount of notoriety within the PRT," I informed him. "If that got out, some criminal element or another might want to snatch me, to pump me for information on the PRT, or to even force me to use my analysis skills on their behalf. Or maybe just to deprive the PRT of my services."

"That's something that happens?" he asked. "In real life?"

I tilted my head toward Kinsey. "It's why the sergeant's with me," I told Kimball. "He's my security detail. Which was why Travers was so anxious to avoid having him along."

"And what if his ID checks out?" asked Kimball. "What if he's the real deal?"

"Then that's a whole other matter," I replied. "What I'm going to say to you now is off the record, okay? It doesn't leave this room."

Kimball frowned. "Okay, off the record it is." He reached under the table, and I heard a switch being flicked. A tiny red LED on the microphone before me winked out.

It could all be a ploy, I realised. The switch could simply turn the LEDs on and off, leaving the recorders running. But I couldn't worry about everything, all of the time. Besides, what I was about to tell him wouldn't really help anyone, and if it leaked, I knew exactly who to look for.

"Okay," I told him. "If he's really a Major in the PRT, it'll be a case of poaching instead. The DC office wants me so badly they can taste it. But Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, in Chicago, has me, and he's not letting me go. I like working in Chicago; I'm doing enough good work there that they can't justify ordering him to transfer me, but that doesn't mean they can't use more underhanded tactics."

"And that's Travers," Kimball noted.

"That's Travers," I agreed. "Now, if he's legit, what he's doing is _legal_, just extremely sketchy. So you can't actually arrest him for it. And now that he's been made, he's likely to go back to DC, where he'll just get smacked on the wrist for screwing matters up with me."

"You think they'll try again?" asked Kimball, his expression as fascinated as his tone.

I considered that. "Probably not. I'm unlikely to be arrested again while I'm here, and they're not about to try a straight-up abduction; that sort of thing draws attention. Plus, I've made Travers, so they know we'll be on our guard from here on."

Kimball shook his head. "Politics," he muttered, in a disgusted tone. "Where does it end?"

"I try to avoid it, myself," I observed. "Either way, I'd be interested in knowing whether he's really PRT or not. It'll tell me what we're up against."

"I can see that," he agreed. "Was there anything else of that nature that you wanted to let me know?"

I shook my head. "I'm done with that subject for the time being."

"Okay, going back on the record ... now." As he spoke the last word, he flicked the switch again, and the red LED lit up once more.

"Okay," I asked. "What happens now?"

Kimball sat up. "Well, in my opinion, the firearm discharge counts as a misdemeanour at worst, given that you were under some pressure, did what you were trained to do, and acted with restraint. However, just to make it look like we're doing _something,_ I'm going to recommend to your superiors that you sign up for a firearms safety and recertification course, and that you refrain from handling firearms until you have attended and passed the course. Your superiors, of course, are under no obligation to enforce this on you. Do you see any problem with that?"

I shook my head. "I'll take the course. I probably need to recertify anyway."

Kinsey snorted. I _audited_ courses like that, in my spare time.

Kimball grinned. He probably didn't know that about me, unless someone had told him, but I suspected that he'd guessed something of the sort.

"Well, that's settled then," he noted. "I'll update your file when I get back to my desk." Standing, he gestured to the door. "I'll just walk you out and make sure you get a cab."

"Uh, we're perfectly able to get a cab on our own," I told him.

"Hah," he replied. "You don't know our Brockton Bay cabbies. A breed of their own."

I tensed, as did Kinsey. _What does he want with us?_ His eyes met mine, and he shrugged, very slightly. He had no idea either.

"Okay,, sure," I agreed. "Let's go." Kinsey's firearm had been returned to him, and we were both capable infighters, so I doubted that Kimball could catch us off guard.

How wrong I was. As soon as we were out of the front doors of the precinct, I turned to him. "All right," I demanded. "What's going on?"

He raised his hands defensively. "Nothing bad, I promise. I just wanted to ask you a question, away from prying ears." His gaze flicked to Kinsey.

"If you can say it to me, you can say it to Kinsey. Spill."

He took a deep breath. "Would you like to have dinner with me?"

* * *

End of Part 4-7


	27. Chapter 27

\o/

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 4-8: Developments

* * *

I stared at Kimball. "Say that again?"

"I said -"

Abruptly, I shook my head. "No, don't say it again. I heard you the first time. You want to take me to dinner?"

He nodded cautiously. "Yes."

I sneaked a glance at Kinsey; he was glowering at the police detective. Kimball was looking more nervous by the second. I had to ask the question. "Why?"

"Um … " Kimball was caught on the back foot. "Because you're interesting. Because you're good looking. Because ... I want to get to know you better?" He trailed off.

I snorted. "You just spent quite a while interviewing me on the Marquis thing. If you don't know me well enough by now … "

"More to the point, ma'am," Kinsey interjected, "Detective Kimball is involved in a case in which you are a person of interest. There is the potential of conflict there."

"No conflict," Kimball assured me. "I've signed off on the case. I was pretty well sure you were on the side of the angels, and the interview settled it for me."

I eyed him suspiciously. "So if I say no, there'll be no sudden and mysterious discoveries in the case that require me to be called back to the precinct?"

"No," he stated with finality. "This is separate. You're an interesting person. I just want to get to know you."

_Is this what it looks like, or is it a plot by Marquis to kidnap me?_ Then another thought occurred to me. _Or is this one of Lisa's head games?_ I wouldn't put it past her to have seen this coming and not warned me. She'd put me in Andrea's way; that had turned out fairly well, but she was also nudging me toward Kinsey, with which I was less than comfortable, given our current status. And now, this.

I had no idea if he was legitimate or not; until I got the chance to speak to Lisa, I couldn't fathom his motives. With Lisa's coaching, I was reasonably good at reading people, but Kimball would have made a pretty fair poker player himself.

While I considered that, I looked him over; looked at the man, not the police officer.

* * *

Like Kinsey, Kimball was about average height for a man, which made him slightly shorter than me. However, unlike Kinsey, the police officer was only middling fit; he looked to be in his thirties, clean shaven, light brown hair just starting to recede. He was friendly, polite, reasonably well-spoken … and a police officer.

This last bit didn't bother me as much as it might once have done; as Taylor Snow, my identity was well and truly established, and I doubted that even a trained police detective would be able to figure out that something was awry with my presentation. But there was still the lingering wariness, the recollection of the careful path that I'd had to tread, back in the early days of my return to Brockton Bay. I didn't _need_ someone thinking I was 'interesting', wanting to know more about me.

Still, his features were pleasant enough and it was just a little flattering to be asked out to dinner. I tried to think back to the last dinner invitation I had been offered, and as far as I could recall, that had been Danny and Anne-Rose's wedding reception. **_That_**_ went well … not._

Of course, I had dined many times with Kinsey, but that was to be expected; I was an officer, and he my orderly. Officers and NCOs had to eat, after all. We were comfortable within one another's silences.

* * *

Kinsey coughed, and I realised with a start that I had not given Kimball an answer. "You'll forgive me if I don't say yes or no straight away," I told him. "It _is_ kind of sudden, after all."

"Sure, sure," he agreed readily enough. He held out a card. "My number, so you can give me the bad news, or good news, or whatever."

I took it and looked it over; as he had said, it had his number on it. "Thank you, Detective Kimball. I'll get back to you on that one."

He smiled, even though I hadn't said yes yet. Or at all. "No, Captain Snow. Thank _you."_ Turning, he trotted back up the steps and re-entered the police station.

Bemusedly, I turned the card over a couple of times, then tucked it into a pocket. "Well, _that_ was different."

"I find it hard to argue, ma'am," Kinsey replied impassively. "Do you believe that you will be accepting his invitation?"

"I'm going to have to think about that for a bit," I decided. "After all, it could be a kidnap attempt by Marquis."

"Do you think he would do that?" asked Kinsey. "You did tell us that Marquis didn't make war on women."

"Oh, he wouldn't _hurt_ me," I assured him. "But he would almost certainly be interested in finding out more about me, and the PRT." I rolled my eyes. "And hey, this might be _his_ way of inviting me out to dinner."

Kinsey snorted. "If I may be so bold, ma'am, you were supposed to be in Brockton Bay for rest and relaxation, not the dating scene."

I laughed out loud, startling a couple of pigeons into flight. "Especially as far as supervillains are concerned, right?"

He barely cracked a smile. "As you say, ma'am. Now, I'll see about getting that cab."

-ooo-

_When the shots went off, they didn't quite manage to drown out the screams of the people cowering on the floor. The video camera had obviously been a little shaky, but the picture was recognisable; Captain Snow, kneeling on the stage, firing a large automatic pistol two-handed. Not at Marquis, not at any of his men, but at the dull grey disks homing in on her. Three stabs of flame were accompanied by a single rolling thunder of sound, as the reports echoed from the walls. Each disc exploded in a puff of white powder before it ever got close to her._

"_Damn fine shooting," observed the colonel, as Captain Snow, on the screen, climbed to her feet once more. Chief Director Costa-Brown ignored him, choosing to concentrate on the screen. "Why doesn't she just drop him?" he asked rhetorically. "If she's such a good shot … "_

**_That leaves twelve armed men with no-one to hold them back, and lots of people who can get hurt in the meantime,_**_ she noted silently. The model of pistol that Snow was holding – undoubtedly handed off from Sergeant Kinsey – wouldn't have held enough bullets to kill all of Marquis' men, even before she had fired those three shots. The colonel should know that. But then, her head of PRT operations in DC had always been a proponent of 'cut off the head' style tactics. She found him a little short-sighted in that regard._

_Instead of retaliating, Snow just stood there – a threat implicit in the weapon she held, and the skill she had just employed to defend herself – and _**_ordered _**_him to leave. He didn't take her seriously at first, but she merely reiterated the direction more firmly. In the face of his attempts to distract her, she didn't get flustered, didn't threaten, just kept her cool and repeated the order._

_And then he asked the questions. The first was of her name; she gave it, calmly and clearly. The second was …_

"_Oh holy God," the colonel muttered, sitting up straight in his chair. "Snow, you _**_idiot_**_. You don't tell people that your job _**_isn't_**_ to arrest parahuman criminals."_

_Again, Costa-Brown refrained from comment; Snow's words rolled out of the speakers. _**_" … is to _****stand between****_ humans and parahumans."_**

"_Christ almighty," he groaned. "She's just set us back _**_months_**_ in public perception. People will be watching this drivel and thinking it's official PRT policy." He got up from his chair. "Where's the phone? I'm putting an end to this, now."_

"_Sit. Down." Costa-Brown did not raise her voice, did not move her eyes from the screen. But he sat down again, after a startled glance in her direction._

" … **_when parahuman criminals such as yourself threaten normal people with harm, we stand in the way. It also means that when ignorant people victimise parahumans who only want to live in peace, we defend the parahumans."_**

"_Chief Director," stated the colonel firmly, "we need to rein this in _**_now_**_. Get spin control on it. Captain Snow does not have clearance to discuss PRT policy, especially with a supervillain. She shouldn't even be _**_engaging_**_ him; she's an analyst, not a field agent!"_

_Costa-Brown waved him to silence again. On the screen, Snow asked, _**_"Now, have I answered your question?"_**

"**_Not really,"_**_ the supervillain responded. _**_"It doesn't explain why you aren't attempting to arrest me."_**

"_What's she _**_doing_**_?" he hissed._

"_Keeping him talking," she replied. "Now _**_shut up_**_."_

"**_My focus is not on arresting you; it's on protecting them. So it's better for everyone all round if you just leave."_**

_Almost predictably, Marquis threatened to take hostages; her immediate response was to threaten to kill any man who tried. Costa-Brown had no doubt that Snow could and would carry out the threat; she had viewed the report on the Batavia incident._

_And then, wonder of wonders, Marquis actually did leave. He took his time doing it, but there was no doubt in Costa-Brown's mind that, no matter the theatrics and flourishes, Snow had backed him down, forced him to leave._

_The footage cut away to a newscaster, looking just a little flustered. "Ladies and gentlemen, that was Captain Taylor Snow of the Parahuman Response Teams, and her faceoff against the supervillain known as Marquis. We can tell you now that no bystanders were harmed in the encounter, and that Marquis did indeed leave the premises peacefully." He shuffled papers on his desk. "Captain Snow then gave a brief interview -"_

_Costa-Brown raised the remote and clicked the TV off; the colonel frowned. "Uh, Director, I wanted to watch that."_

"_It'll be on again; you can watch it in your own time," she told him. "I already have the transcript. I just needed to see the encounter itself."_

_He restrained himself from making a possibly unwise statement. "May I see the transcript, Director?"_

_She nodded. "Of course." Stepping back to her desk, she picked up a manila folder and handed it to him. "There's not much to it; the questions are pretty softball, and she answers them well."_

"_Still," he replied with a frown as he skimmed the questions and answers. "She shouldn't have even said this much. She had no clearance to -"_

_Walking over to the sideboard, she poured herself a drink. Notably, she didn't pour him one. Her body digested food, but alcohol didn't have any real effect on her; however, she had taken the opportunity to try various drinks at receptions and other events, and found that she didn't mind the taste. It humanised her in the eyes of others, which was the main reason that she did it._

_He finished reading and looked up. "Director, Captain Snow is a loose cannon. I know that Hamilton currently has priority on her services, but this proves that she needs closer oversight. I -"_

"_You probably don't know that your man Travers has failed to acquire her," Costa-Brown informed him, and took a sip from her glass. "And in fact, is currently in custody for instigating a brawl within a police station."_

_He acquired a sudden hunted expression. "I – Travers?"_

"_Travers," she confirmed. "You know that I want Snow for my think-tank here, and so you set out to acquire her by some fairly dubious means. Did you happen to ask yourself what would be the result of having an analyst on the team who didn't actually _**_want_**_ to be there?"_

_He frowned, as if not really understanding the question. "Her orders would be to work with the team," he replied._

"_And would you have given her any breathing room once she arrived here?" Her tone was quiet._

_Again, the frown. "Breathing room? She's an analyst. She would be given material to analyse. She would be of no use to anyone just sitting around."_

"_Despite the fact that she's barely a week into a mandated four-week convalescent leave?" she prompted gently._

_His response was a snort. "Hamilton coddles his people far too much," he told her. "Toughen up and soldier on; that's how you get past that sort of thing."_

"_Colonel." Her voice now held a definite edge._

_Instinctively, he straightened into a brace. "Ma'am?"_

"_When Major Travers manages to get disentangled from the Brockton Bay police, you will have him return immediately. You will also pull back the other two people you have observing Captain Snow. You will, in fact, cease attempting to poach her altogether."_

"_Ma'am?"_

_She took a step closer. "Did I stutter? Is there any part of what I said that you do not understand?"_

_He took a quick breath. "No, ma'am. I understand perfectly, ma'am."_

"_Good." Her lips held a smile that owed little to humour. "It is my considered opinion that Captain Snow is better left where she is, to have her pulled suddenly back to DC would exacerbate the current interest in her activities, and raise questions that we really do not need."_

"_But what she said -"_

_She nodded. "Yes. I _**_will_**_ be having words with Captain Snow. We cannot, of course, have mere analysts setting PRT policy." She gestured at the door. "Dismissed, Colonel."_

_Drawing himself to attention, Colonel James Tagg saluted; she returned it almost absently. He turned and marched from the room, closing the door quietly behind himself._

* * *

_Chief Director Costa-Brown rounded her desk, took a seat in her office chair. It was comfortable – one of the perks of the job – although she didn't pay any attention to that. The glass was set down and thereafter ignored as she considered the ramifications, both of what had happened in Brockton Bay, and what had transpired with Tagg._

_It was true that Snow's public description of PRT policy wasn't the same as the official version; this was mainly because the official version took up a dozen closely-typed pages. But, ignoring specific cases and all the legalistic verbiage – unfortunately so necessary in this day and age – the two could be brought into line if one squinted carefully enough._

_But this was not Costa-Brown's main concern with Taylor Snow. The first time she had encountered the young analyst, Costa-Brown had been interested in finding out what sort of person Snow was; her initiatives to do with operational security had been inspired, and her work in other areas was equally impressive. In the event, however, Snow had come across as self-effacing and a little unsure of herself; the Chief Director had decided to let her be for the moment._

_Following the Behemoth attack on New York, Rebecca had revisited the idea of recruiting Snow into a high-powered think-tank; even if the girl's claims of being unpowered were true, her analytical skills and dedication to the work would be enough to get her the place. Some were even suggesting that she be assigned an effective power rank of Thinker 0; Rebecca wasn't quite sure she wanted to go that far, although she had to admit to being extremely impressed by the feat._

_However, upon visiting Snow, she had found the girl to be an emotional wreck. Again, she'd had to shelve the idea of immediately recruiting her for the think-tank; any sort of pressure on her at that point would likely burn her out altogether, rendering her useless and wasting a still-valuable resource. Not everyone, Rebecca had decided with regret, was cut out for the big leagues._

_But then there were the reports from Batavia and Brockton Bay. On each occasion, Snow had chosen to act promptly, effectively and decisively in the face of immediate danger; in one situation, she had used lethal force without hesitation, while in the other, she had refrained from doing so. In both cases, Costa-Brown considered that she had acted correctly, which begged the question; was Captain Snow so mentally fragile, after all? She had not frozen and she had not panicked._

_Rebecca Costa-Brown, as a Thinker of some note, tended to trust her own judgement. But in this case, her three separate impressions of Captain Taylor Snow were widely at odds with one another. She recalled the images of Snow standing on the stage, facing Marquis down, and compared them with her diffidence in the Blue Room, and her near-hysteria following Behemoth. Either her judgement of Snow had been badly flawed, or she had been played each time she had met Snow in person. She didn't quite know which one it was, and she wasn't sure which one she wanted it to be._

_Either way, Taylor Snow was proving herself to be a huge asset to the PRT, but she was also someone to keep an eye on. Preferably at arm's length._

* * *

_As for Tagg, had he succeeded, she may well have let his methods go by the wayside. It seemed that Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton shared a rapport with Captain Snow; the work coming out of the Chicago office was of the very best quality. As such, Hamilton had done his best to block transfer requests for Snow, and Costa-Brown had accepted this for the time being. They worked well together, after all. But she had still itched to be able to work alongside such a brilliant young mind; the girl's insights would have made her welcome in the think-tank._

_And so, had Tagg's machinations worked out – once Snow was safely in DC, any request to have her transferred back would have been slow-tracked – Costa-Brown may just have looked the other way. But Snow had proven to be both sharper and more decisive than Tagg and Travers had counted upon – not, Costa-Brown mused, a _**_total_**_ surprise – and so the attempt had fallen through._

_She would have to have Hamilton speak to Snow about what was permissible to say to journalists in a public forum, she decided. Perhaps some minor administrative discipline, for form's sake. And as for Tagg … well, she had been intending to cut him loose, move him out of the DC office sooner or later anyway. The man was too uncompromising, too them-and-us. This was as good a time as any to send him on his way, and Travers with him._

_Tagg would probably consider this a punishment for trying and failing, she knew. He may even be resentful for being punished for attempting to carry out her wishes. What he probably would not realise, she figured, was that the punishment was not for trying and failing._

_It was for being _**_caught_**_._

-ooo-

Kinsey paid off the taxi driver, and we climbed the steps to Andrea's floor. He got out the keys to let us in – Andrea had given us spares – but before he quite managed to open the door, it was unlocked from the inside. Andrea pulled it open, and flung herself into my arms.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," she repeated, holding me close. "I was so worried!"

I scooped her up into my arms. My spine creaked, but I was able to hold her as we entered the apartment; Kinsey was thoughtful enough to close the door behind us.

"What were you worried about?" I asked, mildly amused, as I navigated across to the sofa, then sat down with her still in my arms. "I was only questioned by the police."

"I was worried that the PRT would come and take you away," she confessed. "Drag you away for firing off Kinsey's pistol."

I met Kinsey's eyes; Major Travers had tried almost exactly that. _If he was even a Major._ "It's _okay,"_ I assured her, lowering my face so that she could kiss me. Which she did, somewhat enthusiastically.

When I looked up again, Kinsey was in the kitchen assembling a scratch meal. "Tea, ma'am?" he called out.

"Yes, please, Kinsey," I replied. "Andrea, have you eaten?"

She shook her head. "I've been too worried." She cupped my cheek with her hand. "Nearly as worried as I was when you were up on that stage, talking to that horrible man."

"He wasn't going to hurt me," I assured her. "That's one thing Marquis doesn't do. Women and children are sacred to him. That's why I had Kinsey back off."

"But _still,_" she insisted. "he's a _supervillain._ You're an _analyst._ You shouldn't be going up against him. You should be telling _other_ people how to go up against him."

I held her close. "If the world was better organised, that's how it would work, sweetie," I told her. "But I was there, I was on the spot, so I did what I had to do."

"Well, _I _think you did really good," Andrea assured me, exhibiting one of her mercurial mood-changes. "You showed him who was boss."

"I strongly suspect that the Captain has improved the standing of the PRT in this city, at least temporarily," Kinsey noted, carrying through a tray of sandwiches. Placing this on the coffee table, he went back into the kitchen. "However, I do not look forward to the interview that I will be having with Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, once we return to Chicago. I believe that he may wax somewhat sarcastic."

"You and me both, Kinsey," I agreed. As grandfatherly as my commanding officer could be, he was also able to summon some rather fluent language, when it came to dressing-down his subordinates. I wasn't looking forward to going through that experience for myself.

Andrea reached out and snagged a sandwich, then offered it to me; I took a bite as Kinsey returned with the tea and coffee. We had to necessarily separate once the hot beverages were poured, as a slip there would result in more than a few crumbs spilled on my uniform.

While we were eating, Andrea turned on the TV; I found, to my dismay, that the one with the video camera – I couldn't recall his name for the life of me – had indeed been filming while I had been facing off Marquis. The sound was fairly tinny; I guessed that they'd cleaned up the echoes. But it was still altogether too dramatic for my tastes.

"Well," I remarked with false cheer, "at least I don't have to worry about _when_ Hamilton's going to find out about it."

Kinsey nodded. "Indeed." He didn't look altogether thrilled, either.

-ooo-

"_Holy shit, check this out!"_

_Lieutenant Calvert looked up from where he was field-stripping his rifle, to see … Lieutenant Snow. Firing an automatic pistol that looked too big for her. Hitting her targets. Talking to Marquis. Facing him down._

_No, not Lieutenant Snow; _**_Captain_**_ Snow._

_The film clip repeated, this time in slow motion, giving everyone time to gather around the TV set and whoop encouragement to the slender girl in the Captain's dress uniform, picking off her targets as though they were clay pigeons._

"_God _**_damn,_**_" Holman stated after it finished running. "That's what I call point defense__."_

"_What branch is she in, anyway?" asked Drummond. "Infantry? Snipers?"_

_Calvert shook his head. "No," he replied without thinking. "Intelligence."_

"_No shit?" asked Holman. "You know her or something?"_

"_Or something," Calvert agreed. "Met her at that White House reception back in January."_

"_Well, shit," Drummond commented. "That's some badass moves, right there. That's one intel weenie I'll listen to, any day of the week." He grabbed his crotch. "And give her an in-depth briefing of my own."_

"_You want to be careful, Drum," advised Caprelli. "She doesn't like your moves, she's like to shoot it right off."_

_As the general laughter overtook the barracks, Calvert went back to stripping his rifle._

**_So, Snow made Captain, huh? Well, well. I wonder how that happened._**

**_I might have to get back in touch with her._**

_Because Lieutenant Thomas Calvert didn't believe in letting an opportunity go by._

-ooo-

After lunch, I stood up and brushed myself off. "I think I'll shower and change now."

"Not a bad idea, ma'am," Kinsey agreed. "I'll go after you."

"You know, you could just shower together," Andrea suggested, a definite twinkle in her eye. "It might save my water bill."

Part of my brain tried to imagine Kinsey in the shower, but I repressed the image, avoided Kinsey's eye and shook my head firmly. "Nope."

"As the Captain says," Kinsey agreed. "No."

"Aww, you're both no fun," Andrea protested, pouting adorably.

"It's not about fun, it's about regulations," I pointed out reasonably. "We have a duty to uphold them." I headed along to Andrea's bedroom, where my belongings were stored.

"But you're not _on_ duty," she pointed out playfully, following me into the room.

I shook my head. "Doesn't matter." Pulling out a change of clothes, I stood and turned, to come face to face with her. "Regulations are regulations."

She put her arms around me. "Well, _we_ could shower together," she purred. "That's not against any regulations, is it?"

I kissed her gently. "No, but it would wreck your water bill," I pointed out. The last time we had showered together, in college, the water wasn't the only steamy thing that was going on.

"Fuck my water bill," she declared bluntly. "I want some you-and-me time." She held me more tightly. "When you were up there … I thought you were gonna _die. _I thought I was never gonna hold you again." She raised her face to mine, her green eyes huge, filled with unshed tears.

Now, and only now, did I see the strain upon her face. She hadn't shown it once while we had been eating, while she had been cheerfully flirting with both me and Kinsey. I had not realised that Andrea had been suffering, how _much_ she had been suffering, until now.

I was struck by surprise; normally, it was me who suffered the strain, and Andrea who was my rock. She had held me, comforted me, carried me through the worst of it. Today had barely even registered on my radar as being problematic; I had faced down bigger menaces with less to go on with, and the _last _time I had been taken in by the authorities had involved considerably more death. But to Andrea, it was a taste of my world, of the world that was to be. The world that I was trying to avert. And she didn't like it; not at all.

She had been my rock, my sanctuary, many times over. It was time I returned the favour.

I dropped my clothes back into the suitcase. Raising my voice, I called out. "Kinsey!"

"Ma'am?"

"You can take the first shower. I need to speak to Andrea about something."

"Ma'am."

Picking Andrea up in my arms, I bumped the bedroom door shut with my butt. She watched my face as I walked her over to the bed and placed her on it. By the time I had my uniform off and hung up, the shower had started. Andrea watched silently as I joined her on the bed, and gently began to help her remove her own clothes.

"You don't _have_ to," she murmured, before I shut her up with a kiss.

"But you _don't,"_ she tried again. "I'd feel guilty."

"Hush," I told her softly as the last of her clothes came off. I gathered her into my arms; the shakes came then, and she began to cry almost silently, clinging to me fiercely. Gently, I caressed her, not in order to excite her, but to soothe her, to calm her down.

Andrea _needed_ me, just as I had needed her, so often. And so, we lay together; sharing not passion, but comfort. In my arms, she fell asleep, comforted, still holding me. And I held her close, treasuring her love, her warmth, her unrestrained _humanity._

I would have need of that, in time to come.

-ooo-

* * *

**Tuesday, April 5, 1994**

* * *

_Fountains sprayed delicate skeins of water into the air before the memory palace. Lisa, still dressed in the 'Honourable Annalisa Wilbourn' costume, got up from the patio chair and came to meet me. "Not staying for long?"_

_I shook my head as I hugged her. _**_Just need you to help me with something._**_ I described what I wanted to do._

_She was nodding before I was halfway finished. "Ah, right. That's easy. Five days?"_

**_Six. Friday, then Monday through Friday again._**

"_Well, that should get his attention."_

**_Especially if we show up just around the time he gets it._**

_Lisa grinned. "I can give you the delivery time easily."_

_I grinned back. _**_Figured as much. I love it when a plan comes together._**

"_Anything else you need?"_

_I shook my head. _**_I really appreciate this._**

_In the end, I stayed for a chat, and a round of delicious-tasting fruit drinks, before allowing myself to ease out of the trance, assisted by a kiss from Lisa._

* * *

With the taste of dust and blood upon my lips, I opened my eyes. Andrea was sitting beside me, watching me intently. I had my finger on the Enter key of the keyboard of her computer, and as I watched, her printer slowly extruded the first sheet of what I had created while in the trance.

"I never get tired of watching that," she told me honestly. "And Lisa's fun to talk to while you're doing it."

"I'm almost worried to ask what she talks to you about."

She pulled me down for a kiss; I didn't struggle. "She tells me about what it was like for you back in the other time," she revealed, once we had both caught our breath. "How she pushed you toward that other guy, Brian, because you both needed it."

"Yeah, well, we only really got together because he got so badly hurt by Bonesaw," I muttered. "It wasn't really him, after. There was something missing."

Andrea nodded. "It's like a weird alternate history story or something. How scary you were with your bug powers, and how people like Emily kept screwing you over."

"Yeah, well, I'm trying to change all that, this time around." I rested my cheek on top of her head. "Fix stuff so it doesn't break. Or not so badly, anyway."

"If anyone can do it," she declared, holding me close, "it's you."

I didn't answer; just closed my eyes and enjoyed the closeness. _Thank you. I need this._

-ooo-

* * *

**Wednesday, April 6, 1994**

* * *

"_Brockton Bay Police Department, Detective Kimball speaking."_

"Detective," I responded, grinning. "Captain Snow speaking."

There was a pause, then he replied hastily. _"Uh, Ca- uh, Taylor?"_

"That's what I said," I reminded him. "So, did you still want to go out to eat?"

"_Uh, yeah, that would be great. I was thinking -"_

"Oh, I've got it all arranged. All you need to do is show up."

Another long pause. _" … you have? I do?"_

"That's correct. What time do you get off work?"

"_Five. Why?"_

"Perfect. Meet me down at the Boardwalk, six o'clock. The Cafe Hawaii. Dress casual."

I could almost _hear_ the gears stripping in his head as he tried to make sense of this. _"Cafe Hawaii? Casual?"_

I sighed. "You wanted to get to know me?"

"_Uh, yes?"_

"This is how. I'll see you there. Eighteen hundred, on the dot."

I put the phone down and turned to Andrea. "Are you sure this is such a great idea?"

She bounced in place. "Sure I'm sure!" A roll of the eyes. "And you were just going to throw the card away!"

I sighed. "I just don't _need_ any more complications in my life right now."

She glanced around; Kinsey had gone out to post the envelope containing the printouts that I had made the previous day, and we were alone in the apartment. "What, like saving the world?"

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "That's different."

Grabbing my arm, she lifted it so that she could slide under it and snuggle up to me. "Yeah, but that's what makes life interesting. So, you called ahead to this guy you're going to see Saturday?"

I nodded. "He knows I'm coming. Doesn't know why."

"Know what you're gonna say to him?"

"More or less, yeah." I leaned in to her. "Andrea … "

"Yeah?"

"I want to say thanks. That I appreciate everything you do for me."

She snuggled a little closer. "That's okay, Taylor. You know I love you."

"Yeah. I love you too." It felt so odd to say that, but it was true, on so many levels.

"So, this Kimball guy."

I blinked, wrong-footed by the conversation turn. "What about him?"

"What's his name?"

"Uh, Kimball?"

She giggled. "No, silly. His first name."

"Oh, uh … hang on." I still had the card in hand from when I had called the number. "Uh … it says Detective H. Kimball. Doesn't say what the H stands for."

"Harry."

"Maybe, I don't know."

"Horowitz."

"Possibly."

"Hunter."

"Andrea … "

"Humperdink."

"Oh god."

"Hugglepuss."

"That's not even a name."

"Is now. I just made it up."

"Well, I'm pretty sure his name isn't Hugglepuss Kimball."

"Okay then, Hastur."

"What?"

She giggled. "Say his name three times, and an Elder God appears."

"Andrea, what _have_ you been reading?"

"Never mind. Let's see … uhh … Handlebar."

I had to shake my head. "Andrea. Please stop."

She pulled me down for a kiss. "Okay."

I sighed. Kinsey had been right; this was not going to be a boring time.

* * *

The Cafe Hawaii occupied the space which, seventeen years hence, would be taken up by Fugly Bob's. It was a fairly unoriginal beachfront cafe; an open plan dining space with faux-islander décor, and waitresses wearing imitation grass skirts. Lisa had informed me that they would be folding in another year or so, when one of the burgeoning gangs got its hooks into them for protection money. This was kind of depressing; it looked like a nice place, if just a little tacky.

"So, you think he'll show?" Andrea, seated across the table from me, wearing T-shirt, shorts and sandals, posed the question.

"Probably," I told her. "I don't know. I'm not going to stress either way. These calamari rings are great."

"I know, right?" She hooked three of them on her finger. "I could sit here and eat these all day."

Kinsey coughed meaningfully; I looked around. "Huh. He showed." Raising my arm, I waved.

Detective Kimball looked almost adorably out of place, in rumpled Hawaiian shirt and jeans; he came on over, then paused as he saw Kinsey and Andrea already at the table. "Oh, uh, I didn't know it was going to be more than you and me."

"It's not," I assured him. "They were just leaving." Kinsey took the hint and got up; Andrea stuck her tongue out at me, but followed suit. They sat at the next table, and Kinsey waved to catch a waitress's attention.

Kimball sat and eyed the basket of calamari rings. "Have you eaten already?"

"Just been nibbling." I gestured to the menu board. "Did you want to order, or shall I?"

He glanced around at the cafe. "When I offered to take you to dinner, I had in mind a more, uh … "

"Expensive?" I offered. "Formal?"

"Something like that," he agreed, as the waitress showed up. He gave his order, then I gave mine. After the waitress had sashayed away – she could really work that grass skirt – he turned back to me. "I wanted to take you to dinner and dancing. Show you a good time."

"I don't dance much," I told him. "Mind you, the last time I _did_ go dancing, it was in the East Room of the White House. And the time before that, I got into a brawl. Put three people in the hospital."

He blinked at me. "You're not serious." A pause. "You _are_ serious."

"I am indeed," I agreed. "If you think you can top that, go right ahead."

"I … yeah, no," he replied, grinning ruefully. "I'll scratch dancing off the itinerary."

"Also, drinks," I noted, as a waiter arrived with the tray of drinks. I took the water with lemon, while he had some sort of complicated fruit concoction. "I don't drink, as a rule. Bad things have happened when I drink. So I don't."

" … okay," he responded. "You've definitely had a different life, I can see."

"Really?" I asked archly. "Have you been checking up on me, Detective?"

He looked pained. "I was hoping this could be a personal-time thing, not professional."

I nodded. "Okay, so what's your first name? All it says on your card is 'H. Kimball'."

At the next table, I saw Andrea grow alert, waiting.

Kimball looked at me. "Really? I didn't tell you?"

"Nope." I sipped my water. The tang of the lemon juice was just right.

"Oh, uh, it's Humphrey," he confessed. "Dad was a real Bogart fan." He frowned as Andrea face-palmed. "Did I say something wrong?"

"Heh. No." I grinned at him. "Ignore her. She was trying to guess your name, earlier. Badly."

"Really? What names did she come up with?"

"Trust me," I assured him, "you do not want to know." I looked up as our waitress sashayed back toward us. "Oh, good. Food."

* * *

Andrea ran through the shallows, happily splashing herself and everyone else who got too close. I carried her sandals and mine, strolling through where the waves lapped on the shoreline, covering my toes and then dropping away, over and over, my knee-length skirt well clear of the seawater. Humphrey Kimball paralleled me, just a little up the beach. He was reluctant to take his shoes off and paddle in the water as I was doing; I suspected an ankle holster. But I didn't say anything; men need their secrets too.

Kimball cocked an eye at Kinsey, prowling along farther up the beach, his attention ostentatiously anywhere but on us. "So I'm guessing that he's your security detail."

"No," I told him cheerfully. "He's my orderly." A tilt of the head toward Andrea. _"She's_ my security detail."

He blinked a couple of times. "You're kidding."

I wondered how long I could string this out. "Not at all. She knows six different forms of martial arts. She can shoot better than I can. Don't let the 'cute and playful' exterior fool you; she's _scary."_

He looked from me to her and back again, bewilderment growing on his face. "You're telling me that _she -"_

I couldn't help it any longer; I burst out laughing. He stared at me, chagrin evident on his features. "You were playing me the whole time."

"Yup." I nodded cheerfully. "She's a good friend from college. We hang out every chance we get. Which is basically whenever I get back on leave."

"Huh. Okay." He paused for thought. "You know, this is not how I imagined our date going."

I shrugged, lightly. "You wanted to get to know me. This is me."

A nod, to concede the point. "Okay, so about you. You said you're in Intelligence. What do you do there?"

I chose my words carefully. "I'm an analyst. I specialise in analysis of cape behaviour and trends of parahuman activity."

"Cape … oh, parahumans?"

"A cape is a parahuman who goes out in public with a costume of some sort," I explained. The term was catching on, so I felt safe pointing it out. "Or really, technically speaking, anyone who goes out with a masked identity. But doing that without powers, or technology, is kind of asking for trouble."

"And a parahuman is just someone who has powers, no matter what he does with them?" he ventured.

"Exactly correct," I agreed. "A cape is almost certainly a parahuman, but a parahuman is not necessarily a cape."

"And your analysis of this sort of thing covers what, exactly?"

I raised an eyebrow. "So, your latest big case, what are the precise details?"

"I'm not allowed to talk about … oh." A look of revelation crossed his face. "Your stuff is confidential as well?"

I snorted. "The exact classification level is classified in and of itself, but rest assured that it's above Top Secret. Mostly it's Eyes Only material."

He frowned. "How can a _classification level_ be classified?"

"I could tell you," I suggested, "but then … "

"You'd have your big scary bodyguard shoot me?" he replied whimsically.

"No, actually," I told him. "I'd have to notify my superiors, and they'd whisk you away to an interview room in an undisclosed location, where you'd be very extensively interrogated, then required to sign a great many documents regarding the various penalties that would befall you if you spoke of this matter ever again, and then you'd be let go again. And probably watched for the rest of your life."

"Hah, wow," he chuckled. "Joking again, right?"

"Not so much." I gave him a serious look. "I don't talk about my work. Okay?" I _had_ been exaggerating, but just a little.

"Okay, got it." He gave me a sidelong glance. "So what do you do for a hobby?"

_Spend time in an imaginary dreamworld with my dead best friend. Make plans to save the world. Murder parahumans who are likely to be a problem in the future._ "Oh, nothing much. You?"

"Much the same, I'm afraid," he sighed. "We're kind of boring people, aren't we?"

_Boring is what I _**_want_**_ to be._ "On the contrary. I'm apparently interesting enough for you to want to ask out. You're interesting enough that I didn't say no."

He brightened up at that. "So a second date isn't out of the question?"

_Down, boy._ "So long as there's no expensive dining, drinking or dancing involved, that's a definite maybe."

"Movies sometime then?" I had to give it to him, he was almost as persistent as Andrea.

"As long as you don't mind Kinsey looming in the darkness, and Andrea throwing popcorn," I pointed out.

"Do they _have_ to come along?" He obviously wasn't thrilled by the prospect.

"Yes," I told him promptly. "Kinsey's my protective detail. He never leaves my side, in public, so he has to come along. It's not fair for him to not have a date, so Andrea comes along. And she _will_ throw popcorn."

"Hm." He seemed to be considering that. "I've got some time off next week. I'll let you know when I'm free."

"No promises."

He nodded. "Understood. No promises."

We continued walking along the beach.

-ooo-

* * *

**Friday, April 8, 1994**

* * *

_The corridor had been blocked off, and the Captain had come down to see what was going on. Lisa and I each held a heavy mug of coffee; strong enough, I imagined, to stand a spoon up in. Or dissolve one. My head was, of course, clear. I saw Lisa wince a couple of times, but she was also on point._

_The Captain of the _**_Ad Astra Per Aspera_**_ – it was the name I had seen inscribed around the rim of the plate, without realising that it was the title of the aircraft as well – was uniformed in white, as per a naval officer's dress uniform, with an impressive collection of gold upon his shoulders, chest and cap. He was an older man, with a greying beard, and a solid presence._

"_Captain Edward Smith," he introduced himself. "And you would be the ladies to whom my steward referred? The consulting detectives?"_

"_Indeed we are," Lisa confirmed. "I am the Honourable Annalisa Wilbourn, and my companion is the Honourable Taylor Anne Hebert." She offered her hand; the Captain took it and bowed over it, doing the same a moment later with mine._

"_Those are British titles," he noted. "You do not speak like subjects of the Imperial Crown."_

"_We are not," Lisa told him. "We are both loyal American citizens. The titles were bestowed for a small matter we attended to in our travels to that part of the world."_

_As far as I could tell, she was spinning the sheerest of horse-hockey; however, Captain Smith – and where had I heard _**_that_**_ name before? – was questioning not a bit of it._

"_Then we are lucky to have you aboard, ladies," he declared. "We do not land for another twenty hours; we need to have the culprit in hand by then. How may my crew be of assistance?"_

"_We will need a couple of your men to do the heavy lifting, and perhaps the use of your sickbay, if your doctor is willing," she told him. "I am curious about how this man died."_

"_But surely he died of that stab-wound to the chest," the Captain protested. "The knife is yet in him." He gestured to the hilt that protruded downward from the breastbone of the corpse._

"_So it would seem," Lisa told him enigmatically. "But I suspect that there is a story here, one that does not immediately strike the eye. And it is one that I intend to uncover."_

_She knelt beside the dead man; I followed suit, on the other side. From her luggage, she had unearthed a large magnifying glass; whether it had been there before all this happened, I had no idea. Slowly, carefully, she began to examine the body._

_The Captain and crew-members leaned over, trying to see what we were doing; I straightened up and gestured to them. _**_Please,_**_ I told them. _**_We need all the light that we can get, here._**

"_Back away, men," the Captain ordered the stewards. "About your duties, except for you, you and you. Do whatever these ladies tell you." He turned back to me. "Is there anything else you need, ma'am?"_

_I considered for a moment. _**_A list of your stewards, and who had their duties in this area at the time of the murder,_**_ I told him. _**_Also, a list of all passengers who have their suites in this part of the aircraft. Quite a few of them were dining at the same time as we were; we should be able to clear many of them simply by speaking to them._**

_He frowned. "You don't believe that one of our stewards did this, do you?"_

**_I don't _****think****_ so, no, _**_I replied, although I did not rule the idea out altogether. _**_But they would be able to tell us which passengers were wandering the corridors around this time. We need to build up a timeline for each passenger, to determine who could have done this._**

"_I see," he replied, looking somewhat relieved. "I will give orders to that effect immediately." He moved off, with the bulk of the stewards, who hung back away from where Lisa and I were bent over the corpse._

**_Consulting detectives?_**_ I asked. _**_Really?_**

_She gave me her best mischievous grin. "Really," she replied. "I've always wanted to be one, deep down. And you've got training in analysis and criminology. So do your thing, Watson."_

_I snorted. _**_Watson, hah._**_ But I set to looking anyway, checking the man's clothing, examining his pockets. _**_Huh, that's interesting._**

"_What is?" she asked, looking up from the magnifying glass._

**_Trouser pockets were pulled almost inside out. Someone searched him._**

"_Good. Keep looking. Hopefully, whatever it is that they were looking for is still on him."_

_I did as she said, feeling down the trousers for anything strapped to his legs and finding nothing. But I hit the jackpot when I unlaced his right boot. As I eased it from his foot, something fell to the carpet; a white square of paper, folded over several times. _**_Bingo._**

_Almost at the same time, Lisa let out a triumphant yip. "Hah!"_

_Turning to her, with the paper in hand, I asked her, _**_What did you find?_**

_She said the same thing at the same time; we shared a chuckle. _**_Well, what?_**_ I asked her._

"_You first," she told me._

_I showed her the paper. _**_It was in his boot._**

_She grinned. "Nicely done."_

**_Thanks. What did _****you****_ find out?_**

_Her grin became positively fox-like. "Well, I'm going to need to get him to the infirmary, but I think this man was murdered twice."_

_I blinked. _**_Wait, what?_**

_She opened her mouth to explain, but at that moment, a shudder went through me. _**_What was that?_**

"_Oh, fudge," Lisa muttered. "You're waking up."_

_I rolled my eyes. _**_Just as it was getting interesting, too._**

"_Always the way," she sighed. "Kiss before you go?"_

**_You know what the worse bit is?_**

"_What's that?"_

**_This isn't the _****weirdest****_ place we've done this._**

_She tilted her head. "True."_

_Leaning over the corpse, I kissed Lisa. Her lips tasted of dust and blood; I closed my eyes._

* * *

"Wakey wakey!" Andrea shook me again.

I stirred, levering my eyelids open. "I'm awake, I'm awake."

"You were talking in your sleep again," she informed me, eyes bright.

"Great," I muttered. "Did I say anything embarrassing?"

"Just something about getting a passenger list. And right at the end, you distinctly said, 'It was in his boot'. What was in his boot? And for that matter, whose boot? Jim's?"

It took me a moment to figure out who she was talking about. "You mean Kinsey?"

"Yeah, _Jim_," she replied. "Wow, Taylor, are you still asleep in there?"

"No," I told her. "For both. I'm awake, and it wasn't Kinsey's boot."

"Then whose?" she asked.

At the same time, Kinsey asked, "What about my boot?"

Before I could answer either one, our entire frame of reference tilted, and the rest of my surroundings came into focus. We were on an airliner, one far less spacious than in Lisa's dreamworld, and it was tilting. Banking. Also, nosing down, if my inner ear was any judge.

Despite the fact that I was securely strapped in, I grabbed for the armrests anyway. "I'm guessing that you woke me up because we're about to land?" I asked, somewhat belatedly.

"Good guess," she told me, leaning across to look out the small window. "Wow, the runway looks really tiny from up here."

"Not something I _really _wanted to hear," I grumped.

"Oh, don't be such a wuss!" she chided me.

"I am not a -" The plane shuddered and jolted as we went through a patch of turbulence, and I grabbed for the armrests again. "- wuss," I concluded, my knuckles white.

"Hey, the wings just flexed," she observed in tones of deepest interest. "I never knew they could do _that_."

I mentally added that to the list marked 'things I never want to hear while I'm in the air'. "Andrea, _please_. No more commentary. No matter _how _fascinating it is."

Deliberately, she paused, then went on in an overly casual tone, "Is it me, or does the runway just sort of trail off into that lake ... ?"

_And that's number three on the list._

_"Andrea."_ This time it was Kinsey, in the aisle seat; his voice came out as a growl.

"Okay, fine. Sheesh." She rolled her eyes, grinning at me. "Big bad PRT, scared of flying. What's the world coming to?"

"Andrea." I did my best to keep my expression from breaking into an answering grin. "Please refrain from any more comments, or you'll be travelling back in the _overhead locker."_

"Yay!" she responded immediately. "Does that mean I don't have to pay for a ticket?"

"Seriously," I muttered, as the wheels touched down. "You're _incorrigible."_

Andrea settled back into her seat, bracing against the deceleration. "Darn _tootin'."_

* * *

Eventually, we deplaned; with what must have been a monumental effort of will, Andrea managed to behave herself until we had our feet on the tarmac. Then she threw her arms around herself. "God!" she managed. "It's _cold!"_

Kinsey and I traded a glance over her head; we were, of course, wearing our winter-weight jackets. Among other things, I'd checked up on the temperatures where we were going; Kinsey, it appeared, had done exactly the same thing. Andrea ... hadn't.

White vapour pluming from our mouths, Kinsey and I watched Andrea doing the hundred-yard nonchalant stroll – perhaps the fastest I'd ever seen it done – into the airport terminal. We followed along behind, somewhat more casually, almost but not quite in slow-march cadence. While our presence and status as members of the PRT wasn't exactly a _secret_, we didn't want to advertise too widely, either.

Andrea confronted us once we were inside the terminal; her nose and the tips of her ears were almost as red as her hair. "You _knew!" _she accused us. "You _knew_ it would be this cold, and never told me!"

"I seem to recall that I hinted it might be a little cool," I reminded her as I unzipped my jacket in the warm air. "What was it that you told me, again?"

Kinsey cleared his throat. "Something along the lines of, 'what, can't you take a bit of cold, you wusses?', I believe, ma'am."

Andrea stared at him, an expression of betrayal on her features. "Why are you taking _her _side?" she demanded.

"She _is_ my superior officer, after all," he pointed out. His face was as expressionless as always, but I thought I caught a twinkle in his eye. I got the impression that he was grinning broadly; it just wasn't showing on his face.

"Not fair," she groused. "I'm being ganged up on."

I wrapped her in my arms and gave her a hug; she slithered her arms under my thick jacket and snuggled up to me. "Now _this _is warm," she murmured. "Can we stay like this?"

"Ma'am, if you want to give Andrea your jacket, I can give you mine," Kinsey suggested.

It made sense; while my jacket would be a bit long on Andrea, and his would be wide on me, it would be better than putting his jacket on her, where it would be both wide _and _long. But that left a problem.

"Kinsey," I objected, "that leaves _you_ without a jacket."

"I'll be fine, ma'am," he assured me. "I've been colder."

I couldn't argue with that; _I'd _been colder. "All right," I told him. "We'll switch after we get through Customs."

* * *

After some discussion, Kinsey and I had decided that it would be too much hassle to use our PRT status to get our pistols through Customs into Canada, so we left them at home. Thus, all we were bringing into the country were our personal effects; wallets, clothes, keys, and that was about it.

The fact that Kinsey could be more dangerous with a set of house keys than most people were with a knife was something else altogether, something that no-one but he and I needed to know.

* * *

Once we were checked through, our passports stamped, we strolled over to a hire-car counter. Kinsey shrugged out of his jacket, and I gave mine to Andrea before accepting his. It was certainly voluminous; however, I got my arms into the sleeves, and my hands came out the ends, so that was good enough.

Looking carefully at the cars on offer, Kinsey turned down two before selecting the third; as he said, he wanted one with plenty of leg room. Wrapping our jackets around us, we exited the terminal into the hire-car park, locating the one we were after by the simple expedient of pressing the auto-lock button and looking for the flashing lights. Andrea had my jacket zipped all the way up; the length of it made her look as though she was wearing a very heavy gown. A wind had whipped up, and I was glad for Kinsey's jacket; Kinsey himself strolled along as if unaware that the wind chill factor was dipping below freezing with every gust. We reached the car; Kinsey hit the unlock button one last time, we opened the doors, and piled in.

The interior of the car was just as frigid as the exterior, but with the engine started, the heater began to add some warmth to the air. I unzipped Kinsey's jacket and pushed it aside, then realised something.

"Crap, we should've asked for a map."

"I did ask, ma'am," Kinsey assured me. "They said there was one in the glove compartment." Leaning across, as I was in the back seat with Andrea, he opened it and located the map almost immediately. Closing the glove compartment, he handed the map back to me and put the car into gear. By the time he had navigated out of the parking lot, I had my bearings.

"Okay, once we're out of the airport, turn left," I instructed him. "Then right. That'll get us on to the Trans-Canada Highway. That'll get us the rest of the way. It's about … " I eyeballed the map. "Maybe a three hour drive."

"Unless we hit a moose," Andrea stated almost immediately. I knew she was feeling better.

"We're not going to hit a moose," I told her.

"We _might,"_ she insisted. "Moose are really stupid."

I sighed. "Kinsey."

"Ma'am?"

"Don't hit any moose."

"Yes, ma'am."

Turning back to Andrea, I raised an eyebrow. "Feel better now?"

"Yup." She grinned at me. "Where would you be without me here to remind you of important stuff like that?"

In response, I grabbed her and began to tickle her; she was overmatched due to my longer arms, but went down fighting anyway. Every now and again, she would call out "Moose!" while continuing her losing battle. Of course, whether she won or lost the tickle war, she still had plenty of close contact with me, so she pretty well won either way.

Kinsey, in the driver's seat, ignored our back-seat shenanigans, and drove on.

* * *

The pine-clad landscape outside the car looked cold and desolate; I shivered as we passed under a trio of electrical cables, each trailing its own collection of icicles. I imagined that, had it been earlier in the year, there would have been a buildup of snow on both pines and wires.

"Lots of lakes around here," I pointed out to Andrea. "Want to go for a dip in them?"

"Yeah, no, screw that," she retorted, snuggling up to me; we had been overheated by the tickle war and had shed our jackets. Kinsey had even turned off the heater for a while, at our request. "Jumping in freezing water like that? You'd have to be nuts even to think about it."

I snorted. "Not disagreeing. But you did just that on the camping trip."

"And so did you," she replied promptly. "So who's nuts now?"

I gave up; unlike the tickle war, I wasn't going to win this one. "Okay, Kinsey, I'm going to need a map of the town. So if you can get that while we're getting gas, that would be great."

"Can do, ma'am," he responded. "If the Captain could pass my jacket through, please … ?"

"Certainly, Kinsey," I replied, doing as he had asked. "Got it?"

Driving one-handed, he reached back and pulled the jacket through between the seats. "Yes, thank you, ma'am." He paused. "I do have a question."

"Yes, Kinsey?"

"Why are we here, ma'am?"

The question hung in the air. The answer – the _proper_ answer – was something that even Andrea didn't know. It would take a long time to explain properly, and I wasn't even sure that Kinsey would accept the answer. "How … do you mean, Kinsey?"

He didn't look around. "I mean, is this another off-the-books operation like the camping trip? Are you here to pass something on, take something, or kill someone, ma'am? I just need to know what might happen."

I took a deep breath. "It's another operation like that one, yes, Kinsey," I confirmed. "No-one's going to get hurt. I just need to talk to someone. But I need you to stay in the car while I do it."

He nodded slowly. "So, this person you're going to talk to. One of the good guys or one of the bad guys?"

"Good guys," I assured him. "Definitely good guys. We do not threaten him."

"Roger that, ma'am," he agreed. "Good guy, just talking."

"And this never gets back to Hamilton, or anyone else in the chain of command," I added flatly. _"Ever."_

He turned then, and gave me his best impassive look. _"What_ never gets back to him, ma'am?" he asked blandly.

I smiled slightly. "Exactly."

* * *

I sipped at the coffee that Kinsey had fetched, as I studied the map. I knew the address I was looking for, a house in the nice part of town. Lisa had shown me on a virtual map inside my head; I knew the spot as soon as my eyes fell on it. Looking up, I figured out where we were. "Okay, take a left up here."

The town wasn't large; it didn't take long before we were cruising past the destination. I checked my watch; ten minutes too early. "This is the place, but keep going," I told him. "Find a place to park; we need to be back here in nine minutes thirty seconds exactly."

"Huh?" asked Andrea. In the rear-vision mirror, I saw Kinsey frown slightly.

"It'll make sense soon enough," I told them.

We pulled over, just down the block, and finished our coffees. I got my jacket back from Andrea, and slid my arms into the sleeves.

"You _will _be careful, right?" she asked anxiously.

"Definitely," I told her. "This is _Canada_. No-one's going to be shooting at anyone."

Kinsey roused. "I hope you're correct. But it's go time."

He started the car once more, and we cruised back down the block. Kinsey pulled up just behind a Canada Post truck which had stopped at the curb. Pulling my jacket closed around me, I climbed out of the car; the truck moved off as I headed for the front gate. It was just closing behind a tall, somewhat lanky individual. He would have looked a little like Danny, save for a shock of messy blond hair.

"Excuse me, sir," I called to him. He turned to me, frowning.

"Do I know you, ma'am?" he asked.

"Not as such," I replied, "but I did call you a few days ago, to tell you that I would be coming to speak to you about something very important to the both of us."

He nodded. "Oh, yes. I recall now. I was curious about that, so I checked up on you. And imagine my surprise when I found out that Taylor Snow is actually a Captain in the Parahuman Response Teams."

"Yes, that's me," I confirmed. "But what I need to talk to you about has nothing to do with the PRT. It's entirely in my private capacity. And it's about something that the PRT as a whole knows nothing about."

"Really?" he asked. "And what might that be, Ms Snow?"

I smiled. "Mr Richter, I'm here to talk about Dragon."

* * *

End of Part 4-8


	28. Chapter 28

/o\

* * *

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 4-9: Points of View

* * *

**Richter**

* * *

The view through the magnifier was akin to that of an alien cityscape; as he watched, the greatly enlarged waldos moved smoothly over the circuit-board he was constructing. Had he not been using the computer-assist he had designed for them, his merely human reflexes would have damaged the board a dozen times over.

Bringing the micro-soldering iron into contact with the correct section, he tapped the foot button and began to fasten the latest chip into place. This was his latest, his greatest project, one that he was only now beginning to grasp the scale of; the complexities of the programming that would be installed within were still working themselves out in his head.

It didn't help that he was suffering from odd interruptions, such as the strange phone call from the States the other day. Some woman calling herself Taylor Snow, saying she was coming to visit regarding a very important matter. He had used some of his specialised software to check up on Ms Snow, and what he had discovered had been somewhat disconcerting.

_If this isn't some form of practical joke, then I've managed to acquire the attention of the PRT Intelligence branch._

His next thought, of course, had been, _But I programmed Robin Hood better than that._

There was no-one who could code better than him, no-one who could write better algorithms. He knew this; he had designed software specifically to sniff through the computers of the world and seek out the most complex programs, just to see what the rest of humanity was creating. Some of it was interesting, in an 'isn't that cute' manner, but nothing – _nothing – _was up to his standard as a programmer. There was _no_ detection software built that he couldn't work his way around in an idle five minutes.

So if Robin Hood hadn't caught the eye of the PRT – _and why warn me in that way, if they were planning to move in on me, or send the Canadian authorities to my doorstep? - _why was it that she had called him? She had evaded his questions over the phone, refused to even tell him when she was going to arrive. Which was probably wise on her part; he may well have taken steps to be out at the time. Anyone who could get through his enhanced home security system was welcome to anything that they could actually understand.

He had dismissed the idea of the Manhunter being the reason that she had called him; while Robin Hood was the reason he was able to afford the computer equipment that he had, the second AI – designed to locate and pinpoint for the authorities those criminals that he _couldn't_ tap for funds – was still in the beta stage. There was still some buggy code that he wanted to clean up before he took the leash off and let it out into the world.

_So why __**did**__ she call me?_ There seemed to be no legitimate reason; she hadn't mentioned his computer programming ability or his AIs, but why else _would_ a PRT Intelligence captain call up a random guy living in Deer Lake, Newfoundland? It was seriously messing with his head.

_Unless they know about me, somehow, but they know they can't actually pin anything on me, and they're sending me a message to pack up shop before they send in the big guns to try anyway?_

That didn't make sense either; as far as he knew, government organisations just didn't work that way. If they had something on you, they hammered you with it; if they didn't, they either ignored you or sent vague threats of legal action. Or turned up unannounced on your doorstep. They _didn't_ just tell you that they were on the way.

He moved the waldos to another point on the board, began to solder a second chip into place -

A truck honked, outside.

_That sounds like the post truck._

_The only reason they would honk is if they have a parcel to be signed for._

_I didn't order anything._

He lifted his head away from the magnifier and kicked away from the workbench, skating the chair across the room to a terminal. Three quick keystrokes brought up the exterior views; it was indeed the Canada Post truck. The license plate was the right one, and he was pretty sure that the guy standing at the back was his regular delivery driver. He was holding a large envelope, wisps of breath curling from his lips and nostrils.

_Why am I getting a parcel?_

There was only one way to find out. With the feeling that Caesar must have had when crossing the Rubicon, he got up and shrugged into his jacket. On the way to the front door, he pulled on heavier overshoes.

Before he opened the door, he reached into the right-hand jacket pocket and touched the one item that he could truly be prosecuted for, the one really illegal thing that he owned. He didn't _want_ to own it, although the way that he had acquired it, nobody could trace it to him. However, as much as he hated the idea, it was a dangerous world, especially with the enemies he would be making, and so, precautions had to be taken.

* * *

The post truck driver was waiting patiently, although the temperature had to be below thirty. As Andrew got closer, stepping over the patches of ice on his front path, he recognised him; that was Joe, all right. Forties, balding under the woollen cap, bulky frame made even more so by his heavy CPS jacket.

"Hi, Joe," he called out, unlocking the front gate. "What's the occasion?"

"Just a registered mail parcel for you, Andy," Joe replied, moving toward the gate, a large Manila envelope in one hand and his ubiquitous clipboard in the other. Andrew had signed for far too many items on that very clipboard; it was old and ratty, the clip was getting weak, and the string holding the pen had broken more times than he could count.

"Where's it from?" he asked, pulling the glove off of his right hand. The cold immediately made itself known; his fingertips began to ache.

"States," Joe replied without looking. "No return address, but it's a New Hampshire postmark."

Andrew felt a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the weather. _First a phone call from the States, then a mysterious parcel. One that has to be signed for. What's going on?_

He accepted the clipboard and scribbled his signature on the appropriate line. "Thanks," he commented, accepting the envelope. Surreptitiously, he felt it with his bare fingertips; as far as he could tell, it held paper and that was it. "Reckon it'll snow again?"

Joe looked around at the persistent snowdrifts, piled up and left to melt at intervals along the road. Most of them were more or less solid ice by now, and probably wouldn't be gone before May. "Hope not. Got enough black ice on the road already." He accepted the clipboard back, reflexively checking that Andrew had signed. "Thanks, Andy. See you 'round."

"See you 'round, Joe." Andrew turned back toward the front gate. He tucked the envelope under his arm and clumsily drew his right glove back on, flexing the fingers to bring the feeling back into them. As he got to the gate, the truck moved away from the curb, on the way to Joe's next delivery. He opened the gate, stepped through -

"Excuse me, sir."

Glancing back, he saw that a young woman had gotten out of a car which was itself now pulling away from the curb in the wake of the post truck. Tall, slender even in the heavy winter-weight jacket she wore, self-assured. A long, serious face; alert eyes behind rectangular-framed glasses. Bare-headed like him, she had short dark hair. _Military cut. PRT?_ Her voice had sounded vaguely familiar. _Is this the person who called me?_

"Do I know you, ma'am?" He was ready to slam the gate and lock it in a moment.

"Not as such," she admitted, "but I did call you a few days ago, to tell you that I would be coming to speak to you about something very important to the both of us." _So it __**was**__ her._

He mustered a nod. "Oh, yes. I recall now. I was curious about that, so I checked up on you. And imagine my surprise when I found out that Taylor Snow is actually a Captain in the Parahuman Response Teams."

She sounded entirely unsurprised at his revelation. "Yes, that's me. But what I need to talk to you about has nothing to do with the PRT. It's entirely in my private capacity. And it's about something that the PRT as a whole knows nothing about."

_Okay, if she's not lying, then I have __**no**__ idea what's going on here. Better to play dumb._

"Really? And what might that be, Ms Snow?"

She really did have a nice smile. "Mr Richter, I'm here to talk about Dragon."

He blinked, even as the shock went down his backbone. _Why did I put my glove back on? Now I can't grab the gun if I have to. _"I'm sorry. I'm not entirely sure that I know what you're talking about."

Her smile had not left her face. "I believe that you do. And I believe that I know something about the situation that you need to know." She took her hands, ungloved, out of her pockets; they were long and almost delicate, with neatly trimmed nails. And, as it happened, empty.

He recalled the TV footage he had viewed of her prowess with an automatic pistol, in Brockton Bay, New Hampshire. And the police report that his software had trawled up, of an incident in a gas station in Batavia, in New York State. Someone, identified as Taylor Snow of the PRT, had shot two armed robbers, killing one and disabling the other. Both men had been armed with shotguns; she had been carrying a small pistol. Clearly, this was not someone to be trifled with._ Even if I'm armed and she's not._

_Wait a minute. Brockton Bay, New Hampshire. Joe said this envelope was postmarked New Hampshire._

He held up the envelope. "Did you send this to me?"

"I did."

"A bit of a coincidence, it turning up at the same time as you showed up."

She had a very good line in enigmatic smiles. "You might say that. In any case, I have some very important matters to speak to you about, and I'd much rather we don't air said matters out here in the open while we both slowly freeze our ears off."

He suspected that he was being played on some level, but now he was well and truly curious. "I suppose that you'd better come in then."

* * *

As he reached the front door, watching her from the corner of his eye, he tugged off his right glove and opened the door. The brass handle stung his palm with the cold, but he ignored it. Pushing the door open, he gestured her ahead of him with his left hand, with which he held both his glove and the envelope.

"Thank you, sir," she replied, entering before him. He followed her in, closing the door behind him. With that and the gate closed, his external security should be coming on line; if there were any intruders between the fence and the house, alarms would be coming up about … _now_.

There were no alarms. _Good._

She turned to face him as he dipped his right hand into his jacket pocket and closed it around the hard, cold metal of the automatic pistol that resided there. Pulling it out, he levelled it at her. She was a cool one, he had to admit; her only visible reaction to being faced with the business end of a firearm was a slight widening of the eyes.

"Now then," he told her, as harshly as he could manage, "suppose you tell me why you're _really_ here."

Unblinking, she gazed at him. "Can I take my jacket off first?"

_I should have waited till she did that. I'm bad at this sort of thing. _"Yes. But don't do anything stupid."

"Understood." Unfastening her jacket, she opened it wide, showing him the interior. No shoulder holsters or other hidden weapons that he could see. Carefully, she shed it, hung it on a hook. With it off, she was even more slender than he had first imagined, clad in long-sleeved shirt and jeans; with those and the boots she was wearing, she could have been setting out for a hiking trip in some warmer climate.

"Sit." He gestured with the pistol at the nearest armchair; there was some idea in his mind that she would find it harder to attack him while sitting down. _Also, it puts her at a psychological disadvantage. And God knows I need the advantage, right now._

Gracefully, she sat; her slim hands lay atop the armrests. Leaning back, seemingly at ease, she crossed one leg over the other and looked up at him. "Can we talk, now?"

"I -" He paused and held up the envelope in his left hand. "What's in this? Why did you send it to me?"

A slight gesture, a spreading of the fingers. "I sent it to you because I wanted you to get it. As for what it is, why don't you look?"

"I _meant,"_ he snapped, feeling his face heat up, "why did you send it to me when you were coming to see me anyway?"

"Oh, that's easy," she told him. "I sent it so that you could be sure that it had been in the sole custody of the United States and Canadian postal services since Wednesday. That I have had _no_ access to it since."

"There are ways -" he began, frowning.

"For you, perhaps," she interrupted. "But I'm not as good at you with computers. But open it, and you'll see what I'm talking about."

He had to remove the glove from his left hand, and then he was faced with the dilemma of how to open an envelope while pointing a pistol at the enigmatic Ms Snow. Finally, he moved to a side table and place the firearm on it, then opened the envelope while keeping most of his attention on the woman in the chair. She didn't move at all; in fact, she seemed to be enjoying the comfort, her eyes half-closed behind her glasses.

Within were six sheets of paper and nothing else; he reached in with thumb and forefinger and extracted them. What was _on_ the papers, however …

"Newspaper headlines? What … ?"

"The front page of the _Western Star,_ Mr Richter," she stated without moving from her relaxed position. "Today's paper, then Monday through Friday of next week's."

The sheet on top was indeed dated April 8, and looked somewhat familiar. "Don't move," he warned her.

"No intention of it," she replied lazily, her eyes closed all the way now.

Hastily, he picked up the pistol and dropped it into his pocket, then looked around the living room for the paper.

"On the counter," she advised him, eyes still closed. "Saw it when I came in."

Glancing that way, he saw it. He darted over, grabbed it up, then turned so that he was facing his visitor while he compared the paper with the printed out sheet.

They were as near to identical as he could see, right down to the daily temperature reading. He skimmed the articles; the content was the same; even the _wording_ was identical. The one real difference was that the photos had been replaced with blank squares. Placing the paper and its corresponding sheet on the counter top, he began to look through the next sheets. As Ms Snow had intimated, the next sheet showed up as April 11, then 12 through 15. The articles were as complete as on the first one; he skimmed through again, noting that the photos were equally blank as on the first page.

Finally, after he had finished looking at the one for Friday the fifteenth of April, he put down the sheaf and stared at Taylor Snow, who had not moved from the chair.

"What … where did you _get_ these from?" he demanded.

She opened her eyes and looked directly at him. "I typed them up on a home computer," she explained succinctly. "Printed them out on a dot-matrix printer."

That fitted with his examination of the pages; they had that look. He himself had a top of the line laser printer; he could afford it, after all. But her answer, although accurate, did not address the issue at hand.

Reaching into his jacket pocket, he produced the pistol once more. He didn't quite point it at her, but it was in his hand as he spoke once more. "Where did you get this _information_ from? I can buy, just maybe, you getting a copy of today's paper, making a computer mockup, and somehow infiltrating the post office to put this envelope, with these stamps and postmarks, to be delivered here today. That's plausible, however remotely. But the other five … they _look_ plausible, possible. I _know_ a couple of the names in the articles. Are they accurate?"

"So long as you take no action to alter events, yes, those front pages will be on the next five papers to be delivered to your house," she replied, her voice even. She wasn't at all reluctant in divulging the information; it was as if he wasn't even holding the pistol. There was no sign of nervousness, no stuttering or pausing. She wasn't even _sweating_.

"How?" he demanded. "How do you _know?"_ And then he realised; it was so simple. "You're a parahuman. A precognitive of some sort. You've done this to mess with my head."

"I'm not a parahuman," she replied. "Nor am I a precog. And I'm here to help you, to give you information that you didn't have before."

"How do I _know_ you're not a precog?" he insisted.

"Because I hold the rank of captain in the PRT. But you knew that."

"This is supposed to mean something?"

She nodded. "Yeah, it is. Capes can't hold rank in the PRT. They get employed as civilian contractors. If I was a precog, I could resign my commission and get paid a much better wage as a contractor. Better hours, too."

"Oh. Right." He waved the pistol at the sheets. "Okay, so if you're not a precog, then how did you do all this?"

Andrew Richter was a Tinker, not a Thinker. He did not consider himself at all intuitive, except in the field of computers and programming languages. Future events were not his purview. But at that moment, he had a flash of insight; he _knew_ what she was going to say next. "You're a time traveller."

Looking him directly in the eye, still maintaining the expression of polite assurance, she nodded once. "Yes, Mr Richter. I'm a time traveller."

* * *

Shrugging out of his jacket, he sat down in the chair opposite hers, placing the pistol in his lap. The safety, as he had surreptitiously checked with his thumb, was still on; he didn't want it going off by accident.

"So … what does this _mean?"_ he asked. "Why have you come to me?"

"I _told_ you. It's about Dragon."

"Oh god," he realised. "You've come from the future to warn me, haven't you? Dragon escapes its safeguards and runs rampant across the world." He fell silent, thinking furiously. _Has to obey all legal authority placed over it … cannot kill except by order of legal authority … cannot create other AIs … cannot duplicate itself …_

When he looked up, she was still watching him. _Observing _him, as if she could read his thoughts. "Where did I go wrong?" he burst out. "What loophole did I miss?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "You didn't go wrong," she told him softly. "You got it exactly _right._ The Dragon I met in the future was a caring, sweet person. I was just sixteen, and I was in need of _some_ sort of human contact, and all those around me were hostile or indifferent. She hugged me. I will never forget that."

"_Hugged_ you?" He frowned. _"She?" _He had been playing with the idea of giving Dragon a feminine persona when he got to that part of the programming, but he hadn't even _started _on it yet. And here was this woman, speaking familiarly of it – of her – as of an old friend.

"Oh, yes." She smiled. "We didn't know that she was an AI for the longest time. Between your death and Saint's attacks -"

"Wait, what? I die? What happens?"

"Something that I'm working to prevent," she informed him. "But just in case I fail, should I ever contact you and tell you to leave Newfoundland _immediately,_ I strongly suggest that you heed my advice."

Jerkily, he nodded. "So who's this Saint?"

For the first time, he observed a negative emotion; her lip curled in disgust. "An opportunist, a thief and a bigot. He finds the black box that you make up for the possibility that you die and Dragon is left unsupervised. He uses that to attack her, even though she isn't bypassing your prohibitions, steals her technology -"

"Wait, wait, Dragon has access to technology?"

"Oh, yes." She nodded firmly. "A year after your death, she triggers with her own powers. She becomes able to retro-engineer any Tinker tech to her own needs."

This was coming too fast for him. "Wait, stop. Dragon _triggers? _With _powers?"_

"Yes," she told him firmly. "She triggers. Your artificial intelligence is – will be – human enough, alive enough, to trigger with powers. She will be human enough to fall in love with a man. That man will love her back, despite knowing what she is. Mr Richter, when you build Dragon, you will be creating a living mind. A _person._"

Andrew struggled with the concepts that were boiling through his brain at that moment. Elation –_ I will create __**true**__ artificial intelligence! - _was mixed with dread – _what if she overcomes the safeguards?_

"I'm really only creating her to manage things," he began. "So I can concentrate on other stuff. To be the interface with the Guild, once it gets that far. If it gets that far. I never intended for her to be out on her own."

"Well, when she's orphaned and cast out on her own," Taylor told him brightly, "she does just fine. _Despite_ the shackles you leave on her when you die."

Which statement gave him yet more food for thought. After a long moment, he focused again, to see Taylor Snow still sitting there, still watching him. Allowing him to work through the implications.

"So, okay," he managed. "If you're not here to warn me that Dragon will be going rogue … why _are _you here?"

She tilted her head slightly. "To ask you to trust her."

* * *

_Trust her. Trust an artificial intelligence. Trust a __**machine.**_

When he was just a child, Andrew Richter had been taken to see _Terminator_ by his older cousins. It had made an enormous impression on him; for years after, he had not been able to watch a Stallone movie without seeing the action star as the mechanistic sunglasses-wearing assassin from the future. And even after he triggered with powers, and conceived the idea of creating the ultimate computer program, the fear still lurked in the back of his mind; _It must be hemmed about with safeguards. I must not cause Skynet to be born._

"I'm sorry, Ms Snow," he told her. "But I can't do that. I can't gamble the future of the human race on _trust."_

"But I _met_ her, in the future, several times," she insisted. "She _knows _the difference between right and wrong. Will know, whatever. When she was ordered to do something that was legally right but morally wrong, she actually fought against her programming. It hurt her, but she managed to do the right thing _anyway."_

"That doesn't actually fill me with joy," he countered. "If she's able to countermand established authority -"

"So you'd have her bending to the whim of every corrupt official misusing the law for his own ends?" she snapped.

"The law may not be perfect, but it's preferable that she has _some_ guidelines to follow than to just 'trust' her to form a moral code anything like a normal person's," he retorted.

"No, you're right. Her moral code is _nothing _like a normal person's." Her voice was angry. "In my life back then, I got screwed over, betrayed and let down by nearly _every_ 'normal person' I knew." She paused. "Except for Dragon. She never once compromised what was right for what was easy, or convenient."

_She believes in what she is saying, I'll give her that. Could it be that I really do such a good job that I manage to build in a sense of morality?_

Mentally, he shook himself. _No. There's another explanation. There has to be._ And then one occurred to him.

More chills shot down his spine and he came to his feet, levelled the gun, thumbing off the safety. Now, she looked just a little apprehensive. "Mr Richter … "

"Tell me something." In a distant way, he was proud of how level he kept his voice. "Are you even human?"

Of all the questions he could have asked her, this was apparently the last one that she was expecting. "What?"

"It's not a difficult question." He jerked the pistol for emphasis. "Are you human? Yes or no? Born of man and woman, or built in a lab?"

Her brow furrowed. "I'm human, sure, but why would you even ask this?"

"Because it's just occurred to me," he explained, keeping the pistol steady upon her. "What if Dragon gained ascendancy in the future, and then sent someone back to talk to me, to explain how she's really a nice person, so I don't need to build in all those pesky safeguards, so that she can win much _earlier_ and _easier."_

Comprehension, or something like it, crossed her face. "Oh. Ah. Hah." Incongruously, she smiled. "No, it wasn't Dragon who sent me back. It was a guy in India. A really top-end cape. One of the _Thanda."_

"You can say that," he pointed out, "but I don't actually see any _proof."_

A sigh. "True. No proof. I've spent quite a bit of time making sure that any such proof is erased, so that any, for instance, background checks for my work in Intelligence don't hang up on the fact that I appeared out of nowhere five years ago."

He blinked. "What? Five _years_ ago?"

"Uh, yeah." She shrugged slightly. "You know the Behemoth?"

He nodded. "I've seen it on the news. Scary shit."

"Trust me, you do not know _how_ scary." Her eyes met his, and he found his supposition that she could be an artificial being herself wavering; there was real emotion there. A shiver found its way down his spine. "I was there, fighting him, in New Delhi. Two thousand eleven. We thought we had a way to kill him, but it went wrong. He absorbed the hit, and then … released it. Killed everyone. Everyone except me, and the guy who sent me back."

Richter found that his knees didn't want to support him any more; he sagged into his chair. "From two thousand eleven to … " Mentally, he did the math. "... nineteen eighty-nine?"

"October 'eighty-nine, yeah," she confirmed. "They pulled me out of the ocean, in the middle of a storm that wrecked a lot of yachts. That created enough confusion that I was later able to work up a reasonable background. I attended Winslow High – again – then Brockton Bay College. I knew exactly when and where the Behemoth was due to emerge, so I worked my ass off and graduated early, then applied to join the PRT." She gestured at the computer terminal across the room. "I doubt that it's all online yet, but I'm pretty sure you can find transcripts and maybe a photo or two."

"Five _years."_ He frowned, rubbing his forehead with fingers and thumb. "You didn't come back to just talk to me. I'm pretty sure I hadn't triggered, five years ago."

"No, I didn't," she agreed. "You were just on my bucket list."

He blinked. "Bucket list?"

"Oh, sorry." She grinned momentarily. "Future slang. List of things I want to do, people I wanted to talk to. I knew that you were just starting work on Dragon, and I had a few days to spare, so I thought I'd drop in and tell you that you did a really good job on her, and that you really didn't need to hobble her all that much. It caused her a lot of pain and frustration. Also, your black box fell directly into the wrong hands. A lot of people got hurt because of that."

"Look, I'm sorry about that," he told her sincerely. "But I can't risk things going the other way. What if it's my safeguards that humanise her, help her socialise? Maybe she needs limitations before she can learn to be a good person."

"Not a bad idea," she agreed. "I have a suggestion. If you're interested."

"I'm listening," he replied cautiously.

"Raise her like a child, a _human_ child," she told him. "Let her grow gradually into her adult mind. Get to know her likes and dislikes. Spend time with her. She always saw you as her father. _Be _her father."

"I, uh ..." He paused. "I'm a computer geek. What do _I_ know about raising a child?"

"Well, at least you don't have to worry about dirty diapers," she pointed out. "And if you want, if were willing to risk a long-distance connection, I could help. Or rather, a friend of mine could help."

"A friend? I'm not sure … "

She grinned. "She knows all about me, and she's totally on board with that. I'm pretty sure you'd hear the geek-squee in Boston if we told her she was going to get a chance to chat with a real live AI."

"Geek squee." He raised an eyebrow. "More future slang?"

"Exactly what it sounds like, but yes." She spread her hands. "What do you say? Give Dragon the chance to grow up and be an ordinary person instead of simply building her to perform a set purpose and then treating her like someone who's just waiting to go crazy?"

He rubbed his chin. "I can't give you an answer right now. You realise this."

"Oh, I get it, I get it," she agreed.

"And I can not and will not simply create her without safeguards. That's simply not going to happen."

She nodded once, acknowledging the point.

"But I will check up on you. And if I can prove to my satisfaction that you're really a human being – what are you doing?"

She undid another button. "Showing you something."

"Don't take your clothes off. For god's sake. Even if you were an android or whatever, I'm pretty sure you'd be anatomically correct."

That got a startled laugh from her. "No. God no. I'm not going there. Look here." Pulling back her shirt from her shoulder, she pointed. "See the scar?"

Trying to ignore the fact that she was also giving him a good view of her bra, he leaned forward and looked. There was indeed a complicated-looking scar on her shoulder, down near the joint. "I see it. What happened?"

"I was stabbed by a girl called Lily, back in my time. She left a piece of aluminum in the shoulder joint. I was examined by a Dr French in Brockton Bay. He had my shoulder X-rayed and found it. Pretty sure that'll be in my medical records. This happened shortly after I showed up in this time." She pulled her shirt closed and started doing up the buttons. "Something you can check up on."

"It is, yeah." He nodded. "Well, I'll think about it, and see what I can find out about Taylor Snow. And if I'm satisfied by what I find, I'll get in touch with you."

"That's fair." She nodded and leaned forward, preparatory to getting up. "Love to stay and chat, but I've got a three hour drive before I catch my flight back to the States."

"Understood." He got up himself, and went to shove the pistol back into his jacket pocket.

"Whoa!" She held out her hand, palm out, to stop him.

He paused. "What?"

"Safety on?"

"I -" He clicked the safety back into place. "Thanks."

"Yeah well, never know when the trigger might catch on something. You should really think about investing in a Glock. They're really reliable for that sort of thing."

He coughed into his hand. "Also kind of illegal, unless you've got a really good reason."

"Yeah, well." She shrugged slightly. "When you're trying to save the world, legalities tend to be more along the lines of polite suggestions." She nodded toward the pistol. "Who taught you how to handle a firearm?"

"I, uh, read books and stuff?"

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, for God's sake. Once you've checked me out, wait till I'm on leave, and visit me in Brockton Bay. I'll put you through a firearms safety course. By the time I'm finished with you, you'll know what you're doing." She smiled slightly. "Or I'll let Kinsey do it. Half the time, twice the mental trauma."

"Uh … right."

"Well, it's been nice talking to you, Mr Richter," she told him briskly. Waiting till he put the gun away, she shook his hand. "Please consider what I told you about Dragon."

"She was really all that in the future?"

She nodded. "All that and more."

"Huh. Okay then. I'll think about it. No promises, mind." _No Skynet. I can't even __**risk**__ that._

"That's all I ask."

"Okay." He paused. "You're heading back along the Trans Canadian?"

"Yeah, why?"

"Watch out for moose. They like to wander on to the road."

Oddly enough, she snorted with laughter, and shook her head. Not bothering to explain, she shrugged into her jacket, and went to the door. Cold air whistled in as she opened it. He pulled his own jacket on as well, and went out with her.

They walked wordlessly down the path, and she opened the gate. As she stepped on to the pavement, the same car that had dropped her off started up, just a little way down the road. It pulled to a halt opposite her, and she got into the back.

Before the car moved off, Richter caught a glimpse of a large man driving, and someone with red hair in the back seat. _The security cameras would have gotten more._ The car was a rental, but the plates would reveal who had hired it.

Closing the gate, he locked it, and went back toward the house. All of the information would go toward deciding whether or not to trust Taylor Snow, to allow her in on the development of Dragon, or even whether or not to build Dragon. Now that he knew that she was capable of developing on her own as an AI, and even defying her programming, that raised a whole new level of worry.

Entering the house, he closed and locked the door behind him. Shrugging out of the jacket, he hung it up, then went and sat down at the terminal. He accessed the Manhunter program and started to repurpose it; it would take an hour or so, but by the time he was finished, it would have one job to do.

_Find out everything about Taylor Snow, and determine whether or not she can be trusted._

After all, the fate of the world was at stake.

-ooo-

* * *

**Taylor**

* * *

Kinsey waited until I had my seat belt fastened before speaking. "Did it go well, ma'am?"

"Didn't go well, didn't go badly," I decided. "Could really go either way."

"So what was it about?" Andrea, as usual, had all the tact of a bulldozer. "C'mon, you can tell me."

I shook my head. "No, sorry. Just that it's about something that will probably come up later. Not an immediate concern."

"Hm." Kinsey pondered that for a moment. "So what you're doing … is going off the books to deal with things that you've picked up on, but which the PRT is incapable of dealing with."

"Or wouldn't be willing to deal with, or wouldn't believe me on," I agreed. "But that's essentially it, Kinsey, yes."

He rubbed his chin. "I find it had to believe that the Lieutenant-Colonel wouldn't take your word on any particular matter. Have you thought of running these things past him?"

"Oh, I have," I told him. "Repeatedly. But the fact remains that the moment I let anyone else in on this sort of thing, I lose control of how it gets dealt with."

"Hm." Slowly, he nodded. "I see. Well, if there's anything I can do to help -"

"For the moment, I need you right where you are." My voice was firm. "That way, you can plausibly deny knowing anything that might hurt you."

"As you say, ma'am. Let me know if you change your mind."

"You'll be the first to know."

"Thank you, ma'am."

We lapsed into silence as Kinsey took the highway east out of Deer Lake.

I had a lot to think about.

-ooo-

* * *

**On Board the ****_Ad Astra Per Aspera_**

* * *

"_All right, gentlemen. Get him up on to that table, please."_

_Lisa and I stood back as the stewards heaved the corpse on to the examination table of the infirmary. I still carried his boots; they had yielded no further clues apart from the square of folded paper._

_**So what do you mean, murdered twice?**_

_Lisa grinned at my question. "Just that. Here, help me get him undressed. We need to find where the puncture is."_

_**What, apart from where he got stabbed?**__ If that wasn't a puncture, I didn't know what was._

"_No, I'm guessing we'll find a needle wound. From where he got injected."_

_**With poison, you mean?**__ The pieces fell into place. __**He's got symptoms?**_

"_He's got symptoms," she confirmed. "Some sort of pretty nasty toxin. Not sure quite what it is, but it had just about finished him off before he got stabbed. To be honest, I'm uncertain as to which one actually killed him."_

_**But why would they poison him and then stab him?**__ I asked. __**Where's the sense in that?**_

"_Hey, I haven't got all the answers yet," she told me. "What's that paper say, anyway?"_

_I unfolded it; it was about six inches square, covered in groups of letters and numbers, in blocks of five. They weren't written; rather, they were printed typewriter-style. They didn't form recognisable words; in fact, they didn't make any sense at all._

_**Okay …**__ I murmured. __**Now I'm **_**really**_** confused.**_

"_On the contrary, Watson, everything is becoming more clear."_

_I gave her an irritated look. __**You know I hate it when you do that.**_

"_I know." Her grin widened. "But it'll all make sense pretty soon."_

_I got his trousers off and checked his legs and feet; Lisa checked his torso, arms and head. At our request, two of the stewards turned him over – Lisa had already carefully removed the knife – and we checked that side of him._

_**I can't find any puncture, **__I admitted eventually, then eyed his underwear. __**And I'm really unwilling to check in there.**_

"_He won't have been injected there," Lisa assured me. "Two layers of cloth; too much chance of stopping the needle. Also, it would have left a mark on the pants, which I checked for."_

_**Oh, **_**good,**_ I stated with some relief. __**So, no puncture. What does that mean?**_

"_It means that we've been looking in the wrong place. Turn him over again, will you, boys?"_

_As the 'boys' completed their task, another steward arrived with a folded piece of paper. I opened it up to find the passenger list. Immediately, I checked on our murder victim._

_**Huh, this is interesting.**_

"_So is this."_

_I turned, Lisa had the man's mouth open as far as she could manage, turning one of the adjustable lights to shine down his throat. __**What have you found?**_

"_How the poison got into his system."_

_**What, really?**_

"_Sure, come see."_

_I moved over beside her, and looked into the guy's mouth. __**His teeth aren't the best, are they?**_

"_No, they aren't. But look at the back of his throat."_

_I squinted against the glare. __**Looks kinda … reddened.**_

"_Yes, it does. Like it was inflamed just before he died."_

_I frowned. __**You're saying he **_**ate**_** the poison?**_

"_Or drank it, yeah."_

_**So somebody **_**fed****_ him poison?_**

"_That's the supposition."_

_**So we're looking at the kitchen staff now?**_

_She shook her head. "I don't think so. He wasn't in the dining room when we were, but he'd been freshly poisoned, then stabbed, by the time we got back to our room."_

_**Ah. So you're saying that he was poisoned **_**somewhere else.**

"_Exactly, Watson. We'll make a detective out of you yet." I stuck my tongue out at her; she cheerfully ignored it. "So what did you find?"_

_**Check it out. He's a British national.**_

"_What, really?"_

_**Yeah, really.**__ I showed her the sheet. It was arranged by cabin numbers, followed by names. After that was the type of ticket they had purchased. Mr James Mulrooney, our double-murdered man, was apparently on a round the world trip, originating in "Lond., Eng."_

"_Well, well," murmured Lisa. "Well, well, well."_

_**I guess that explains the bad teeth,**__ I commented with a grin._

_She stopped and stared at me. "What did you say?"_

_**I was making a joke about how British guys always seem to have bad teeth in the movies. Why?**_

"_Hold the phone!" She dived back into his mouth. "Quick, give me a pair of forceps or something."_

_It took me a few seconds of rattling around, but I found something that seemed to fit the bill. To my surprise, I saw Lisa take a firm grip on one of the guy's teeth. __**Uh, is this the best time to be brushing up on your dentistry?**_

"_We'll see."_

_It seemed to take her forever; back and forth she wiggled the tooth, carefully moving it, until it finally came free of the gum. Without being asked, I held out one of those metal kidney basins; she dropped it in. __**And what the hell is that about?**_

_She nodded at the tooth. "That's not a tooth."_

_**What is it, then?**_

"_It's a hollow tooth." She tapped it, hard, with the back of the forceps, and it cracked open. Greenish liquid oozed out._

_**Ew. What the hell's that?**_

"_Either the world's most painful toothache, or something like cyanide or arsenic. And I'm going with poison."_

_**So, a suicide tooth. For what, a secret agent?**_

"_That's what it looks like."_

_**Okay, now I'm totally confused. What's a British secret agent with a cyanide tooth doing here on the plane? And who would have murdered him?**_

"_To answer your first question, espionage. To answer the second one, whoever he was doing espionage against." She had taken the list from me, and was looking over each entry. "Well now, this is very interesting indeed."_

_**What is?**_

"_You'll see." She cracked her knuckles. "Time, I think, to go see the Captain. I've got a request to make of him."_

_**You're enjoying this way too much.**_

_She tilted her head. "And you're not?"_

_**Well, I am, but I'm worried about Richter. I might have pushed him away.**_

"_Relax." She smiled at me. "You certainly gave him something to think about. But he should come around."_

_**Should?**_

"_Most likely." She tilted her hand from side to side. "He's going to have you under surveillance, to see if you're a robot or not. What __**you**__ do is going to have an effect on __**his**__ actions."_

_**And you can't just tell me how to act in order to get him to do what we want?**_

_She gave me a flat look. "You know it doesn't work that way."_

_**Oh well. Worth a try.**_

_She nodded. "Looks like it's time for you to wake up and get on the plane. Kiss before you go?"_

_I lowered my face to hers and kissed her; her lips tasted of dust and blood. Closing my eyes …_

* * *

… I opened them in the back of the car.

"Ah, there you are," Andrea told me cheerfully, opening the door to let in a blizzard of freezing air. "I was thinking Jim might have to carry you on to the plane."

"Yeah, no," I grunted, levering myself out of the vehicle. "Let's go home."

-ooo-

* * *

**Gladys**

* * *

"Harvey."

Gladys kept working, marking the papers.

"I'm talking to you, Gladys."

She paused, put her finger on the spot that she had been looking at, and glanced up. Carrie Blackwell was standing in front of her desk, glowering at her.

"Oh, sorry." Her tone was less than sincere. "I thought you knew. I'm married. 'Harvey' is my maiden name now."

"Does it matter?" Carrie made an impatient motion with her hand. "I want to talk to you."

"You're in luck." Gladys gestured to herself. "I'm right here. What did you want to talk about?"

Carrie looked as though she had bitten into a lemon. "You've proved your point."

Gladys frowned. "I'm not sure what you're talking about. Proved my point about what?"

"The vice principal position. You can pull your name from consideration. You've proved your point about standing up for yourself."

"Oh. Right. Sorry. Now I understand."

"Good. So that's settled." Carrie went to walk away.

""Oh, I didn't mean that I'd be pulling my name," Gladys told her. "Just that I understood what you were babbling on about."

Carrie stopped. Slowly, she turned around. _"What_ did you say?"

Gladys stood up. "I'm not pulling my name from consideration. Sorry if that's got you upset."

It was as if Carrie couldn't comprehend what Gladys was saying. _"Not_ … pulling your name?"

"Well … no." Gladys shrugged. "The way I see it, we all have the same right to be considered for the job."

"But … I've got _seniority!"_ insisted Carrie. "I've _earned_ it!"

"And if the School Board agrees with you, then you get the job," Gladys told her. "If not … then you don't."

"No!" shouted Carrie. "No! You can't do this to me! It's _my_ job!"

"What?" _I'm missing something here._ "Why are you so upset all of a sudden?"

"None of your business," snapped Carrie. "Now, the joke's over. You're going to withdraw from the running."

"Or what?" challenged Gladys, strolling around the desk until she stood face to face with the older woman.

Carrie's eyes slitted. "I still hold seniority over you, and don't you forget it. I can make life pretty damn difficult for you."

"Ah, vague threats." Gladys shook her head. "Nope. Got anything better than that?"

Carrie leaned closer, and lowered her voice. "I promise you, if you try, when you fail and I get in, I will make it my life's goal to ensure that you get canned so hard no school in Brockton Bay will take you on."

"Well, that requires that you actually _get_ in, doesn't it?" Gladys let just a hint of sarcasm enter her voice. "Meanwhile, you do your level best to make my life here pretty difficult at the best of times. So I've really got nothing to lose."

"Withdraw your name," Carrie ordered her. "Or I'll just go tell Woodbine that you want to pull out anyway."

"Yeah, good luck with that," Gladys replied cheerfully. "I already asked him not to withdraw my name unless I tell him so myself. I figure that I've got a halfway good chance of pulling this off. So yeah, out of luck. Sorry."

"No. You don't get to do this. You don't get to steal my job."

"It's not stealing," retorted Gladys, "if it was never yours in the first place."

That was the straw that broke the camel's back; Carrie stepped forward and her open hand smacked into the side of Gladys' face.

What Carrie didn't know, or hadn't considered, was that, among other things, Gladys had acquired a very solid grounding in boxing during her years at college. She had also put on bulk and muscle; when Carrie slapped her, she reacted without even thinking. Her right fist lashed out, smashing into the point of Carrie's jaw; Carrie's eyes rolled back into her head, and she tottered, falling to the ground a moment later.

"Wow. Ow." Gladys shook the feeling back into her hand.

At that moment, the door opened and none other than Principal Woodbine leaned in through the doorway. "I heard raised voices – good God, what happened?"

Gladys took a deep breath. "She wanted me to stand back from the vice principal thing, and I said no. She hit me, and … I hit her back. Sorry."

Woodbine looked from Gladys, with the red mark coming up on her cheek, to Carrie, flat out on the floor, moving feebly.

"Well, now," he murmured. _"That_ makes life interesting."

"I'm in trouble, aren't I?" she asked apprehensively.

Woodbine rubbed his own chin with thumb and forefinger. "Perhaps, perhaps not. I just got off the phone with the Board, letting them know that I favoured you for vice principal. Command experience, y'know."

"Command – oh, ROTC?"

"Exactly." He came forward and crouched beside Carrie, who was starting to blink and look around. "I think our Ms Blackwell might have been passing, and overheard some of the conversation."

The last piece fell into place. "So she decided to come to me and coerce me into stepping down."

"Which I do _not_ approve of," he agreed. "Ms Blackwell. Carrie. How are you feeling?"

Carrie focused on him, then on Gladys. She worked her jaw. "She hit me." Her voice wasn't much more than a mumble.

"After you hit her," Woodbine informed her. "Now, we can make a thing of this, or we can just pretend it never happened. Mrs Knott, what do you say?" He helped Carrie into a sitting position.

"I'm fine with that," Gladys stated. "And I'm _still_ not withdrawing from consideration for vice principal." She paused. "Unless, of course, you want me to, sir."

"Hell, no," he replied. "You and Captain Snow made a hell of a team back in the day. I'd be interested in seeing if we can do anywhere near as well."

"Mr Woodbine." Carrie's voice was stronger. "Please. No. Give me a chance." She glared at Gladys. "I've been here for _years._ It's _my turn."_

"Carrie, you walked into her office and tried to tell her what to do, then assaulted her," Woodbine told her patiently. "Whatever high ground you had is _gone."_

Carrie's voice rose in a wail. _"I don't want to teach Home Economics forever!"_

Woodbine stood, assisting Carrie to her feet. She was wobbly, but able to stand. "You have two options, Ms Blackwell. You can stay, and teach Home Economics. Or you can submit your resignation, and I'll give you a glowing recommendation. But after this little display, you don't get to be vice principal of any school _I'm_ running."

Carrie leaned against the desk. "How long do I have to think about it, sir?" Her voice was dull.

"Take as long as you like." He paused. "I'd tell you not to harass Mrs Knott, but she's shown herself well able to deal with physical harassment." He took her arm, supporting her. "Now, let's get you to the nurse, make sure it's nothing more than a sore jaw."

"I can help," Gladys offered, taking her other arm. While Carrie Blackwell wasn't as skinny as Taylor, she still figured that she could carry her there herself, given the need.

"Thank you, Mrs Knott," Woodbine observed. "Much appreciated."

* * *

It didn't take them long to get Carrie to the infirmary; the nurse clucked in sympathy and had Carrie lie down straight away. As she began to check the teacher over, Woodbine drew Gladys away.

"You're serious about still wanting to be vice principal?"

She nodded. "You're serious about still wanting me to do it? After this, I mean?"

A slight smile creased his face. "I would prefer a vice principal who stuck to her guns and stood up for herself over one who snuck around behind my back. Also, you've shown yourself well able to take orders as well as give them. I've yet to give the Board my final word, but if you want the position, I can make the recommendation. I think they'll accept my judgement on the matter."

She met his eyes. "I'll still want to teach Computers, at least some of the time."

"We can work that out," he agreed. "So long as it doesn't interfere with your other duties."

"I'll make sure it doesn't."

"Good." He held out his hand. "I'll let you know how it goes."

"Thank you, sir." She shook it. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have papers to mark."

He smiled again. "You're excused. Good day, Mrs Knott."

"Good day, Principal Woodbine."

As she walked away, Gladys had to repress the urge to break into a dance. _Vice principal!_

_I'm gonna be the best damn vice principal this school ever __**had**__._

* * *

End of Part 4-9


	29. Chapter 29

**\o/**

* * *

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 4-10: Dinner and a Show

* * *

On the small airliner back to Brockton Bay, I let Andrea have the window seat; I took the middle seat, and Kinsey sat on the aisle. The aircraft had all the legroom of a matchbox aspiring to become a sardine can, but the burly Sergeant could at least stretch his legs into the aisle when things got too cramped. I half-turned toward Andrea to give my knees more room, and endured.

As we lifted off, Andrea craned her neck to look out the window, but lost interest once we were properly airborne and winging our way back to the United States.

"Not going to give us a running commentary?" I teased her with a smile.

"Nah." She wrinkled her nose at me, then yawned capaciously. "Seen it all before anyway."

Kicking her shoes off, she tucked her legs under her in a way that no-one with a Y chromosome could duplicate, and put her head on my shoulder. Within what seemed like seconds, she was asleep, emitting tiny, kittenish snores. Lifting my arm, I put it around her shoulders; without opening her eyes, she snuggled into me and went straight back to sleep.

I had to admit that it was very comforting to have her curled up next to me, her weight warm against my side. My visit to Andrew Richter had reminded me yet again that I would not be able to finesse my way to a perfect solution every single time; my job was going to be difficult if not actually impossible. _No. Not impossible. I refuse to accept that. I refuse to despair._

Andrea was my reminder that there were people I could trust, whom I could lean on. She gave me strength. She gave me direction. And, perhaps more important than anything else, she gave me an excuse to laugh and be silly. To be _human._

A smile crossed my face as I recalled the tickle war in the back of the car. Had Richter witnessed that, he would never have questioned my humanity; his idea of artificial intelligence would simply not encompass antics of that nature.

"She's asleep?" rumbled Kinsey, beside me.

I nodded, very slightly, so as not to disturb her. "Out like a light."

"If I may speak plainly, ma'am?"

"Of course, Kinsey."

"I will admit that I had my doubts about her, at first," he murmured. "But my opinion has changed. She's good for you. With her in the same room, you're more relaxed. You _need_ that, ma'am."

I nodded again, just as briefly. "Thank you, Kinsey. I'd already come to that conclusion, but it's good to have a corroborating opinion." My smile belied my formal words. I didn't bother mentioning the time they had spent together by the lake; that wouldn't have swayed his opinion of her one way or the other. If he'd thought she was bad for me, he still would have told me so; such was the measure of Sergeant James McMartin Kinsey.

"So, what are your plans from here, ma'am?" he asked, as if discussing the weather. "Is there anything else I need to worry about during the rest of your leave?"

"Actually, no," I replied. "I'm fully intending to spend the rest of the time just … being me. Unwinding. Relaxing."

An almost soundless snort from the sergeant. "As you should have been doing the whole time."

"Well, you can't say it hasn't been interesting."

"'Interesting'," he retorted, "will be facing up to the Lieutenant-Colonel after we get back. That is an interview that I'm not looking forward to."

"Why, Sergeant Kinsey," I told him, injecting mock surprise into my murmur, "I'm surprised at you. You're thirty years younger than Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, and outweigh him twice over with muscle alone. You almost sound scared of him."

"It's not fear, ma'am," he responded stiffly. "It's respect."

"I can accept that," I agreed. "I don't think I'll enjoy it either." I shrugged slightly. "With luck, he won't take our heads _all_ the way off. After all, the news crews were singing the PRT's praises from the rooftops, last I saw."

He nodded. "We can only hope, ma'am. We can only hope."

-ooo-

Andrea slept through the whole flight, only waking up as we were descending toward the Brockton Bay airport. She yawned and stretched like a cat; this was very impressive, given that she was still strapped into her seat.

"Yay!" she exclaimed, looking out the window at the landscape rising below us. "America! The home of the brave and the land of the Fred!"

I blinked. "The land of the … what?"

She turned her bright, ingenuous gaze upon me. "Fred. You know, the guy behind the counter at McDonalds? He gives me extra fries if I bat my eyelashes and look pouty." She demonstrated on me. I had to admit, she was very good at it.

"Andrea," I told her as sternly as I could while trying not to smile, "I'd say you were incorrigible and shameless, but … "

"But we both knew that already, yeah." She bounced in her seat, even with the seatbelt on. "So come _on_, get this thing on the _ground_ already. I wanna get _out."_

"Andrea," I sighed, leaning back, "there are many excellent reasons why you should never be encouraged to join the military, but one of those would have to be your inability to understand the concept of 'hurry up and wait'."

"Hurry up and what now?" she asked, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "Sorry, I didn't quite catch that last word."

"I'll catch _you_," I threatened.

"Sorry to burst your bubble," she replied impudently, "but _that_ happened a long time ago."

"Yeah, it did," I sighed, putting my arm around her again, and rubbing my cheek against her riot of curls, "and I'm pretty sure it's a terminal case."

"What, are you saying I'll be the death of you?" she retorted playfully. "Okay, challenge accepted. Sexual exhaustion it is."

"Oh _god," _I groaned, blushing despite myself. "You did _not _just say that on a crowded plane."

"I didn't?" She looked interested. "I must have been imagining it. Oh well, I'll say it out loud th-"

I only knew two ways to shut Andrea Campbell up. The first way, a hand over her mouth, generally didn't work all that well; even with her mouth covered, she could make the most amazingly obscene noises. Worse, as I had learned the hard way, she possessed little in the way of scruples as to where she grabbed or tweaked me, and so could usually struggle free with a little effort. And as I had _also_ learned to my cost, the presence of other people would not inhibit her in the slightest.

So I shut her up in the one way in which she was guaranteed not to struggle; I leaned down and kissed her. Predictably, she did not object in the slightest, instead wrapping her arms around my neck and pulling me down toward her.

Our kiss was interrupted by the chirp of the tyres on tarmac; I had to disengage and sit up to brace against the deceleration. Fortunately, Andrea had been sufficiently distracted by the kiss – or perhaps it had been her aim all along to get me to kiss her – and sat relatively quietly until Kinsey judged it worthwhile to try to deplane.

* * *

I walked ahead, with Kinsey behind and Andrea in the middle, so that nobody jostled her. We carried our winter-weight jackets over our arms, given that the temperature in Brockton Bay, even getting toward evening, was well above freezing. Once more, we went through Customs, where our lack of luggage stood us in good stead; we had nothing to declare, and we had flown out only that morning, so we got back through with a minimum of fuss.

Our hire car was still in the parking lot; we piled in. Andrea pulled me into the back seat, and sat in the middle so that she could snuggle up to me. "Wow," she murmured, as Kinsey drove us toward the exit. "We parked here this morning, and we're driving out in the evening. In that time, we've flown to Canada and back, risked death by moose -"

"We saw two moose the whole way," I interrupted. "And they were in the distance. Neither of them even came close to the highway."

"You were asleep on the way back," she pointed out. "A whole squadron of moose could have done _Swan Lake_ in the middle of the road, and you wouldn't have known a thing about it."

"_Herd_ of moose," I corrected her.

"Sure I've heard of moose," she replied cheerfully. "Who hasn't? Moose are funny to look at. And it's fun to say. Moose."

Slowly, I shook my head. "You _know _I meant -"

"Anyway," she went on. "Before you changed the subject, I was saying something. About moose. Ah, right. We flew to an airport in the middle of nowhere that was named after some sort of goose, drove to the middle of _more_ nowhere, and you spent about ten minutes talking to some guy in his house. And you won't tell us a thing about it. For that I gave up my day."

"I'm sorry," I told her.

"For what?" she asked, looking at me askance.

"For wasting your time."

"Pfft. This is the most fun I've had in _ages."_ She leaned against me, holding my arm tightly. "Any time you want to take off for a mysterious trip into wherever, let me know. I'm coming along."

I met Kinsey's eyes in the mirror, and raised my eyebrows slightly in query. He responded with a very slight shrug. _Well, it's official. Neither one of us can figure her out._

-ooo-

"Ma'am, the parking lot is full up," reported Kinsey. "If I drop you two out at the front, you'll be all right to get inside?"

"I believe so," I replied dryly. "If anyone tries to mug us, I will explain to them the error of their ways. And then Andrea can go through their pockets for loose change while we wait for them to wake up."

"Okay, that sounds like fun," Andrea agreed. "I've never actually seen you go all psycho on someone. Except when you and Gladys were doing that stick fighting thing at the lake."

"Ma'am," agreed Kinsey. He pulled the car to a halt, hazard lights blinking, while Andrea and I climbed out. I closed the door, then slapped the roof of the car twice to let Kinsey know that we were out and clear.

As he drove off to find a parking spot, we strolled up toward the door of Andrea's apartment building. Despite my brave words, I kept a careful eye out while Andrea led the way to her front door. A single attacker, I was pretty sure I could handle. Two competent armed attackers, or three average ones, I might have trouble with. Not that I thought we _would_ be mugged, but this _was_ Brockton Bay, and these _were_ what they used to call the 'bad old days'. Even though Brockton Bay in _my _time was apparently even worse.

However, we reached the apartment with no trouble, and Andrea unlocked the door. She made it two steps inside, then stopped dead. Nor did I move any farther myself; we had a visitor.

* * *

He stood foursquare in the middle of the living room, hands behind his back. His clothing hearkened back to yesteryear, a ruffled shirt with full sleeves, and formal trousers. Over it, bands made of bone went over his forearms and crossed over his chest, with enough covering his face to act as a mask. His hair, worn long, was held back by the bone headpiece. On another man, the fancy clothing and the long hair could have looked effeminate. On him, it did not.

"Good evening, ladies," he greeted us; his voice was deep, smooth, courteous. Now that he wasn't shouting to make himself heard, I got the impression of cultured manners covering rough edges underneath. Of someone consciously trying to better himself.

"Marquis," I replied grimly. 'What is this?" Carefully, I stepped forward, put Andrea behind me. She didn't object, but she kept craning her head out to look around me.

"Nothing sinister, I assure you, my dear Captain Snow. Neither you nor the delightful Ms Campbell have anything to fear from me."

That left one person. "Kinsey." My voice was flat. "If your men have harmed him in any way -"

"Then I will deal with them as finally as I deal with anyone _else_ who fails me," he pointed out. "I left specific orders for him to be detained but not harmed."

"I can't guarantee that state of affairs will hold true in reverse," I told him. "What is it that you want with me?"

"To ask you to dinner, of course," he stated, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I didn't answer, not at first. My gaze raked him; I studied him, committing every detail to memory. He didn't fidget, didn't keep talking. His return gaze was confident, self-assured, intense.

"Why?" I asked, eventually.

His head tilted slightly, as if questioning. "Captain Snow, that should be self-evident. You are clearly an intelligent woman, and very strong-willed, if your track record with the PRT is anything to go by. I find you interesting. Intriguing, even."

"Is this anything to do with the fact that your last girlfriend has just left you?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

His eyes widened behind the bone mask. "Colour me very impressed, Captain," he responded. "You know more about my personal affairs than many." His smile broadened slightly. "And you realise that you've just piqued my curiosity about you somewhat."

"Well, that curiosity will just have to remain unsatisfied," I decided. "As interesting as such a dinner might be, I have no desire to be seen in public with an up-and-coming crime lord as yourself. People may not know your face _now_, but in time, they will. And then they may start asking questions. Questions which I would rather not have to answer."

"But aren't you the least bit intrigued?" he asked urbanely. "To break bread with a supervillain? To learn the thoughts and motivations of one of the people you're sworn to oppose?"

I smiled, grimly. "You would be shocked and astonished, Marquis, if you knew with whom I have broken bread, and under what circumstances. I know the supervillain mindset all too well. It's why I'm so good at my job." With Andrea still behind me, I moved to the side. Keeping one arm before her – more to keep her back than to protect her, given that I knew that she was perfectly safe from him – I gestured at the door with my free hand. "Your dinner invitation is declined. Feel free to see yourself out."

"Very well, Captain." He moved toward the door, then paused. "Should you ever change your mind, I'm sure that you will be able to find me."

"Despite what I know about you, I will not be bothering you," I answered his unspoken query. "Unless you ever come near my friend again. In which case, I _will_ return to Brockton Bay, and 'bothering' will be far too mild a term to use to describe my actions."

"I give you my word. Ms Campbell will be safe from my attentions." His head tilted in an ironic bow, and then he strode past us and out the door.

I slammed it behind him and locked it, in one smooth move. Then I darted to my bedroom, wary for ambush; I didn't _think_ he'd leave a man in the apartment, but I was trained to make no assumptions.

Nobody ambushed me, and I located my Glock; with it in hand, I cleared the rest of the apartment rapidly. Andrea was still standing in the living room, in what appeared to be a state of shock, as I emerged once more.

"You okay?" I asked her, guiding her to an armchair.

"Yuh," she agreed. "That was Marquis."

"I know, sweetie, I know." I kissed her. "Can you stay right here for me? Lock the door behind me."

"Uh, sure."

* * *

Glock held low by my side, I stepped out through the doorway, checking left and right. It was all clear. I headed for the stairwell, and took them two at a time. _If they've hurt Kinsey, I'll never be able to forgive myself._

I emerged on to the street, Glock still held down alongside my hip. Down the street, in the direction that Kinsey had taken the car, men were stumbling and staggering toward a canvas-topped truck. I moved in that direction, fast. The pistol was so small that it didn't unbalance me as I ran.

The last man scrambled over the tailgate, and the truck lurched into motion before I was halfway there. There was a small side street, almost an alleyway; the men had been coming out of there. I guessed that it was where Kinsey had decided to park.

Pistol now up and tracking, I moved into the side-street. My eyes flicked from side to side, the pistol following my line of vision. I heard a groan, but couldn't see anyone. Every instinct screamed at me to rush to the sound, but I kept moving carefully, ensuring that there was no more danger in the area.

"Kinsey?" I called. "Snow. Coming in."

There was no answer; the car had been parked, but one door sat open. I could see a pair of legs protruding from in front of the car. I could also see the damage done to the car itself; at first I thought that they had vandalised it, hitting it with sledgehammers or something. But then I realised that every dent, every smashed window, had been done with a rounded implement. Some had left behind smears of blood and hair. There had been at least six men that I saw climbing into the truck; Kinsey had obviously decided to take them all on. And from the looks of it – and from the looks of several of the trash cans in the vicinity, all of which bore decidedly battered appearances – he had given a good account of himself.

Finally, drawing a deep breath, hoping against hope that his injuries would not be too severe, I stepped around the door and approached Kinsey himself.

Except that it wasn't Kinsey.

It was a man whom I had never seen before.

* * *

I drew a deep breath, looking around. Stepped back from the man, kept moving. Perhaps Kinsey was farther away. "Kinsey!" I shouted; my voice was reflected back at me by the buildings close by on either side.

He was nowhere close. I returned to the injured man, looked more closely at him. The clothing was bloodstained and torn, but now I recognised it. The pattern of the suit was one I had seen before; the man who wore it was tall, muscular, not the type to wear a suit.

_One of Marquis' men. Too badly injured to move._

He groaned again, with a bubbling sound; I looked more closely. His chest was oddly shaped; it looked caved in on one side. I had some basic battlefield medical training, but nothing that could help this man. Even a full trauma team would be hard put to bring him back from the brink, and that only if he was on the table right there in front of them. About the only thing that could save him in his current state would be Panacea, and she had yet to be _born_.

It would probably take a forensics team hours to piece together the full action, but I could work out the gist of it. Marquis' men had been waiting for us to return. They had wanted to hold Kinsey while their boss spoke to me. Unfortunately for them, Kinsey fought back, and while I had never seen him in an all-in brawl, I could attest to how good he was when he was holding back.

It took me a moment to realise that the bubbling had stopped. Stepping forward, pistol at the ready in case this was some truly elaborate trap, I checked for a pulse. There was none.

Carefully, taking more time, I checked up and down the side-street for anything else; a clue, a hint that Kinsey might have gotten away.

Nothing.

_Damn you, Marquis. I might just have to hurt you, now._

-ooo-

Finally, I retraced my steps. It was full dark now, as I climbed the steps to Andrea's apartment. With my pistol still in hand, I knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Andrea's voice.

"Taylor," I replied.

There was a long pause. "How do I know someone doesn't have their gun at your head?"

"Moose," I called back through the door.

She opened the door immediately, and flung her arms around me. I hugged her back carefully, mindful of the pistol. Without letting her go, I moved inside and pushed the door shut with my foot.

"Where's Jim?" she asked, without letting me go. "Is he going after them?"

Carefully, I disentangled her arms from me. "Andrea," I told her carefully. "I think he might have been abducted."

Her eyes went very wide. "_Kidnapped?"_

I nodded. "By Marquis' men, I think. Because -"

"- because you said no," she filled in. "Oh shit. Oh shit. What's going to happen to him?"

"Absolutely nothing," I told her firmly. "Because I'm going to get him back."

* * *

Andrea stared at me. "What? Shouldn't we call the police?"

Carefully, I placed the pistol on the coffee table, then took her by the arms. "Andrea. Sweetie. The police will take over the situation, assume they know much better than me, and fuck it all up. Marquis is _ruthless; _people will get hurt. Maybe even Kinsey. Although Marquis will probably be reluctant to harm him, given that he thinks I know at least a bit about his operation."

She stared back at me. "And you think you can do better."

I nodded. "I'm his worst nightmare. A woman, who can find out all the information I need about his operation, who's willing to walk right in and kill as many of his men as I need to, in order to get Kinsey back."

"Wow. Yeah. Are you gonna kill him too?"

"Nope." I shook my head.

"Shut him down? Hand him over to the cops?"

Again, I shook my head. "Just take Kinsey away from him."

"But _why?"_ She stared at me. "He's a criminal! He's _dangerous!"_

"There's a girl. She's going to need him as a father for just a little bit, in a few years' time. I need him alive and free to do that."

"Doesn't sound like a very good father to me."

"From what Lisa's told me, when he puts his all into being a father, he's really good at it." I guided her to the sofa and pulled her down to sit next to me. From habit, she climbed on to my lap. We held each other close; she put her head on my shoulder.

"Just … be careful, okay?" she asked. "I mean, I can see that look in your eye. The look that means nothing's gonna stand in your way. I can't talk you out of this. But … be careful?"

I kissed her gently; she clung to me.

"Always," I whispered.

-ooo-

"_Oh, hey." Lisa turned from the sights of the ridiculously elaborate hunting rifle she had set up on the edge of the hunting blind; it made the Barret with which Gladys had ended Heartbreaker's life look like a cap pistol. She was back to wearing her dino-wrangling gear, topped by a weathered slouch hat. "Looking for information on Marquis, huh?"_

_**You know it.**__ I hugged her._

"_What's that for?" But she hugged me back anyway._

_**Just letting you know how much I appreciate you.**_

"_Hey, I appreciate you letting me live here rent free," she replied cheerfully. "So yeah, here's the skinny on the bone guy." Picking up a tablet from the gun rest, she handed it to me, then peered through the scope again. "Woo hoo. Thar she blows." Absently, she waved flies away from her face._

_Leaning forward, I looked through the spotter scope. A huge furry beast shambled into view, reaching out with a trunk to pluck up a small shrub. __**What? A woolly mammoth?**_

"_Yup." She grinned at me, then peered through the scope once more and began to rotate a crank attached to the mechanism that held the rifle in place. The rifle swivelled almost imperceptibly._

_**But … why?**_

"_Have you seen the __**size**__ of the rugs you can make out of those suckers?"_

_**I guess you have a point.**_

"_Well, I won't keep you. You've got a sergeant to rescue. Kiss before you go?"_

_I leaned forward and kissed her. Her lips tasted of dust and blood and sun balm. A fly buzzed close to my eye; I blinked._

-ooo-

My eyes opened to Andrea leaning against me, her head on my shoulder. We still sat on the sofa; in my hands was a large pad. On the pad was a carefully drawn diagram of the layout of the safe-house in which Kinsey was being kept, where Marquis placed his guards, and the actual location of the safe-house in Marquis' territory. Other notes went around the margin. A little separate was a string of digits.

Andrea pointed at that. "Is that … ?"

"His direct number, yes."

"Holy crap. You just pulled his number out of thin air. Oh wow." I could tell that she was starting to recover from the shock of the home invasion. "That could come in _so_ handy." She paused, and checked herself. "Well, it _could _have, before I met you."

I suppressed a smile. "I am not your personal dating service." My tone was reproving but fond.

"Sure you are." She snuggled up to me. "We go on dates all the time."

"You know what I mean. Now, can I have the phone?"

Grumbling about having to get up, she fetched the cordless phone and brought it over to me. I waited till she was settled next to me before I dialled.

"_Hello?"_

"Marquis."

"_Good god, Captain Snow?"_ A pause. _"How did you get this number?"_

"I'm a Captain in the Intelligence division," I told him bluntly. "It's what I do. Now, you have someone I want back, in one piece."

"_Your Sergeant Kinsey. You warned me, but I didn't realise just how dangerous he was. One of my men had to be left behind; how is he?"_

"He didn't make it," I reported. "There was nothing that could be done. How is Kinsey?"

"_A little banged up, but he's in better condition than some of my men. He'll survive."_

I didn't let my relief sound in my voice. "Good. I'm guessing that you pulled off this ridiculous stunt in order to insist that I have dinner with you."

"_You are as perceptive as ever. A quiet dinner date in a private location, where prying eyes cannot see us together, then maybe a stroll along the Boardwalk, after?"_

"Hmm. I have a counter-offer. You release Sergeant Kinsey, unharmed, and I _don't_ bring the wrath of God down upon your head."

His tone hardened slightly. _"My dear Captain Snow, I am trying to be gentlemanly about this, but may I remind you; the good Sergeant is in my hands, and as much as I admire you, threats will not work toward his best interests. My offer is this; have dinner with me, and he will be released unharmed. My word on it."_ He didn't say what would happen to Kinsey if I refused outright. I decided that I would rather not find out.

"Give me a few hours to think about it," I prevaricated. "Then I'll get back to you."

"_Don't take too long," _he suggested. _"The man he killed was a good one."_

"Oh, you'll hear from me soon," I assured him.

"_Good. Oh, and in case you're intending to involve the police … don't. They'll take days or weeks to get any sort of result. And if I have to wait more than a day, it will not go well for your Sergeant Kinsey."_

"Believe me, I know," I told him grimly. "This will just be between me and you."

"_Excellent," _he replied warmly. _"I look forward to your call."_

Andrea, who had been listening intently to both sides of the conversation with her ear pressed up against the handset, looked at me enquiringly as I ended the call.

"Are you actually gonna go to dinner with him?"

I snorted. "As if."

She frowned. "Well, why didn't you accept in the first place? He actually looked kind of sexy. And it might have saved some problems."

"The last thing I want to do in this town is give the local criminals the wrong idea about the PRT," I reminded her.

"I could go in your place," she suggested brightly. "I'm not PRT, and I've never had dinner with a supervillain."

"And if the _other _villains in town get wind of this?" I reminded her. "Butcher and the Teeth? Galvanate? The Empire Eighty-Eight? If they decide that you're a good leverage point, you'll be kidnapped, and your chances of survival after that go down dramatically."

"Oh." She drooped. "I didn't think of that."

"It's okay," I assured her. "And I appreciate the offer. But this is gonna have to go down my way."

"What can I do to help?" she asked immediately.

I smiled. "I'm going to need your biggest handbag and your slinkiest dress … "

Andrea grinned. "Challenge _accepted."_

-ooo-

_Humphrey Kimball bounded from his car and closed the door. The dinner invitation from Captain Snow – Taylor – had come out of the blue, but he hadn't argued. He pressed the buzzer at the apartment entrance door, and the lock clicked almost immediately._

_At the top of the steps, he paused to catch his breath, then strode forward to knock on the appropriate apartment door. It opened; Taylor stood there, wearing a dress that flattered her figure dramatically._

"_Hi," she greeted him, then leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "I am __**so**__ glad that you were free."_

_He frowned. "Uh … isn't that large Sergeant of yours coming along?"_

_She rolled her eyes, and gestured into the apartment. Now Kimball heard the noises; the squeaking of bedsprings were interspersed with the sounds of a woman in the throes of passion._

"_Kinsey and Andrea have … discovered one another. I need to get out of the place. Can we go, please?"_

"_Isn't he supposed to be your security detail?" he pressed. "You __**were**__ kind of insistent on that, before."_

"_Are you armed?" she asked bluntly._

_He blinked. "Uh, yes."_

"_Then I feel secure enough. Come on, let's go, before they really get going. Again."_

_She took his arm, and pressed close to him; her perfume should have been illegal. "Okay, sure," he agreed. "Let's go." A thought struck him. "Where are we going?"_

_She closed the door behind her and smiled. "Well, how about dinner and a movie?"_

-ooo-

I had picked the restaurant; the lighting was low, with gentle background music to complement the clinking of cutlery against crockery. The food was excellent, but the main reason I had wanted to come here was its proximity to a certain area of town. _We've wasted an hour and a half so far. God, I hope Kinsey's still okay._

Kimball sat back and sighed. "Wow, that was really good. But aren't you hungry? You barely picked at your meal."

I gave him the best smile that I could manage. "If I eat too much in this dress, I might just pop a seam."

He admired the dress, again; or rather, he admired the effect that it had on my figure. Which, I had to admit, was very flattering. "I have to admit, it's not one I imagined a Captain in the PRT wearing."

"Just between you and me, I stole it from Andrea's wardrobe," I confessed.

"Maybe I should arrest you for theft," he commented playfully.

"And let me guess, strip-search me?" I countered, with a smile.

"Well, maybe," he conceded. His eyes searched mine, looking for hints that I wasn't just flirting.

"Maybe later," I suggested. "We've still got a movie to watch."

"We could just go for a stroll along the Boardwalk," he suggested.

"No, this is one I want to see. And I'd like you to see it with me," I told him. _And besides, I want to be in a dark movie theatre with you. Just not for the reason you think._

"Then I want to see it with you," he declared. _Lisa was right. Men are so easy to manipulate._

I reached across and took his hand. "I'm so glad that you were able to come out with me tonight."

"Me too," he agreed, squeezing my hand gently. "Me too."

-ooo-

_"I can't believe Andrea's asking me to do this!"_

_Danny took Anne-Rose in his arms. "It's for Taylor. And Sergeant Kinsey," he reminded her. "His life's in danger, otherwise."_

_She leaned up against him. "But going out with the guy Taylor's dating?"_

_"All you have to do is sit in a dark movie theatre with him," Danny soothed her. "I'll be close by."_

_"What if he tries to kiss me? Or grope me?"_

_"Tell him 'not until later', and pretend you're really engrossed in the movie."_

_Despite herself, she snorted. "Can I at least slap him?"_

_He grinned. "Only if he gets really grabby. But she'll be keeping him at arms' length, so you can too."_

_A sigh. "Fine. But only because it's Andrea who's asking. And only to save a life."_

_He kissed her, as tenderly as he knew how. She responded in kind. For a long moment, she held him close, then slowly disengaged. "Okay, fine," she told him briskly. "If we're going to do this, we're going to do it properly. Help me put my hair up."_

-ooo-

"You sure this is the theatre you want to go to?" asked Kimball doubtfully. "You do realise, it's in Marquis's territory. Kind of tempting fate, here."

"I told you, Marquis doesn't hurt women or kids," I assured him.

"So why did you have us sneak the back way out of the apartment building?" he asked.

_Because Lisa told me that his men were watching the front, but not the back. _"Because I like to vary my routine. Intelligence training; you know how it goes. It's good to get into the habit of not having a habit."

"I ... see." It was clear that he didn't, not really. Of course, the bad spy-movie dialogue didn't help. Which was really my intention.

Humphrey's good-casual attire didn't draw much in the way of attention as we entered the lobby, but my borrowed dress – showing off rather more leg than it did when Andrea wore it, given that I had quite a few inches of height on her – caused a few heads to turn. Of course, people were looking at the _dress, _rather than my _face, _which was also the intention here. _That tall brunette in the dress? Yes, sir, she came in and watched the whole movie. Yes, sir._

I was personally a little dubious about the dress – it was considerably slinkier and more revealing than, well, _anything_ I had ever worn before – but I had to admit, Andrea's judgement was right on the money. The whole time that we were purchasing tickets, the attendant's eyes did not stray above my collar-line.

Personally glad that I had chosen to wear flats – I didn't want to _tower_ over Kimball, after all – I accompanied him into the theatre. The movie I had told him I wanted to see – _Yesterday's Hero, _an action drama about an ageing cape coming out of retirement one last time – was doing all right at the box office, but there were few enough people in the theatre that we could sit next to each other. After the meal, I couldn't justify popcorn, but I had opted for a large fizzy drink each, to give Humphrey's hands something to do.

I led the way down the aisle, and chose my seat before he could decide otherwise; right next to the aisle. He had to slide past my legs to sit down, which he managed to do without spilling his drink on me. "I wanted to sit closer to the wall," he murmured, gesturing at the large expanse of empty seating beside him.

"This dress is hard enough to walk in normally without showing off more than I really want to," I reminded him in a whisper. "Climbing between seats, no thanks."

"So why did you grab one that was so ... revealing?" he wanted to know.

"First one I could find that wouldn't get me arrested," I told him. "Trust me, the other ones were _worse."_

"So why not that outfit you wore the other day?"

"Because Andrea and Kinsey were _on my bed," _I retorted. "Now shush. I want to watch the trailers."

He took the hint and sat back to watch the screen and sip his drink, while I slurped mine through the straw. About halfway through the trailers, a familiar figure got up from the front rows and made his way back up the aisle; I watched him go past out of the corner of my eye, but didn't turn my head. A minute or so later, as the trailers were coming to an end, I put my cup down in the holder.

"I think I need to visit the ladies' room," I whispered.

_"Now?"_ he hissed. "But the movie's about to start!"

"Well, I'm not going to last the whole movie," I pointed out.

"Maybe you shouldn't have had so much soda."

"I was _thirsty." _With that witty rejoinder, I got up from my seat and hurried up the aisle. If he wondered why I took the borrowed handbag with me, I didn't give him much of a chance to ask me about it.

I slowed down when I entered the lobby; Danny was loitering at the concession stand. Our eyes met briefly, and he glanced toward the ladies' bathrooms. At his side, his hand showed three fingers projecting downward; Anne-Rose was in the third cubicle. How he knew this, I wasn't sure; Anne-Rose had probably checked which ones were free, then ducked out to tell him which one she would be in.

_Well, let's do this. _I entered the bathrooms, and ran into my first snag.

The second and fourth cubicles were also occupied.

* * *

I took a deep breath. _Okay. This isn't the end of the world. I can get around this._

But I knew that whatever I did, it would have to be fast; if I took too long, Humphrey would start wondering where I was. If he came looking, and caught Anne-Rose coming out of the bathrooms, he might realise that she wasn't me; I would have a lot of explaining to do. And yes, he was interested in me, but he was also a police detective, and I had absolutely no guarantee that one would trump the other.

For perhaps ten seconds, I waited. Nobody flushed, nobody opened their cubicles. For all that the canard of 'women taking too long in the bathroom' was generally untrue, it seemed to be playing out in this particular instance.

So I stepped forward and tapped on the door of the third cubicle.

"Uh, occupied," came the voice of Anne-Rose from within.

"It's me," I hissed. "Open the door!"

"What?" But she was already undoing the lock. The door opened, and I slipped inside, coming face to face with a startled Anne-Rose. A startled Anne-Rose who was in her underwear.

Pushing the door shut with my butt, I reached behind me and turned the lock. "Help me," I murmured, turning so that she could reach the zipper. It went down at her tug, and I stepped out of the dress. Turning back again, I held it so that she could step into it.

It was fortunate that we were both on the skinny side; otherwise, dressing her in a toilet cubicle designed for one would have been absolutely impossible. As it was, I wasn't sure what the women on either side thought what was going on in our cubicle; nor did I want to know.

She shrugged the dress on over her shoulders, and I pulled the zipper up. It was fortunate that I had filled out a bit during my time in the PRT, because Anne-Rose would not normally have been as skinny as me; as it was, the dress was a little tighter around her, but not impossibly so. I kicked my flats off, and she slid her feet into them. "My god," she muttered, "there's nothing at all to this dress."

"It's Andrea's. Just try not to inhale too deeply," I advised her. "Here. Perfume."

She took the bottle and dabbed it on to her neck and wrists; immediately, the rich scent redoubled in the confined area.

"Right," she told me. "How do I look?"

Reaching up, I took the floppy cloth cap from her head, exposing her hair; it had been done up in a tight curl behind her head. With luck, in the darkness of the cinema, Humphrey wouldn't see any difference. I hoped.

"You look great," I told her. "I really appreciate this."

"You owe me for this," she told me feelingly. "You really do."

"I'll make it up to you. Somehow."

Closing her eyes for a moment, she sighed. "Okay. Danny thinks it's worthwhile. So let's do this. Where's he sitting? And where am I sitting?"

"About halfway down on the right. Danny knows where. He's one seat in, you're on the aisle. If he tries to kiss you, ignore him. Or elbow him, gently."

"It won't be gently," she told me grimly. "Okay, out of the way. He's got to be wondering where you are."

"Okay." I wormed around, then caught sight of the sparkle on her finger. "Shit, your engangement ring."

"Christ." She rolled her eyes and pulled the ring off of her left hand. "Kinsey better be worth it."

"He is." And then, just as she opened the door, I realised. "Glasses!" Pulling the pair I had off of my face, I handed them to her.

Putting them on, she nearly went cross-eyed. "Christ, your eyes are screwed up, you know that?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Now go!"

Closing the cubicle door behind her, I listened to the sound of her footsteps crossing the tiles, the sound of her briefly washing her hands, and then the outer door opening and closing. In the meantime, given that mostly everything in the cubicle was a blur, I was feeling through my handbag for my spare glasses, the ones I had been intending to give to her. I had also intended to swap bags after moving certain items from one to another, but we had been in too much of a hurry. _Fuck, I hope it doesn't matter._

-ooo-

_Anne-Rose emerged from the bathrooms; across the lobby, Danny finally completed his purchase of a large box of popcorn. They converged on the entrance; the attendant at the door looked up. "Tickets?"_

"_Here's mine," Danny offered. "I was just getting popcorn." He held up the box to illustrate._

"_No problem, sir. Ma'am, ticket?"_

"_My date bought my ticket," Anne-Rose told him. __**Shit, Taylor forgot to get it for me.**__ "He's inside."_

_The acne-ridden boy – he couldn't have been over seventeen – shook his head stubbornly. "Ma'am, I can't let you in without a stub."_

"_But we bought our tickets just then," Anne-Rose protested. "I was just going to the bathroom." __**Oh god, it's all going wrong.**_

"_Sorry, you should bring it out with you," the pimpled adolescent lectured her. "Rules are rules."_

"_Screw it," Danny told him. "Here, miss. Take mine. I'll buy another one." He passed her his stub; at the last moment, she remembered the engagement ring clutched in her hand, and pressed it into his. His eyebrows hitched up for a second, but he caught on quickly._

"_Thank you," she told him feelingly. "Thank you so much." __**And people wonder why I want to marry him.**__ With her head held high, she stepped past the teenager and down the corridor toward the entry to the cinema proper._

_Danny was supposed to guide her back to where her seat was; all she had to go on otherwise was Taylor's 'half way down on the right'. She couldn't see crap through the glasses; pushing them down, she looked over them, walking carefully down the aisle._

"_Taylor!" The sharp whisper came from __**behind **__her; she turned, and there he was, so she presumed; at least, he was beckoning to her. He was one seat in, just as Taylor had said. Backtracking, she eased herself down into the seat, feeling the dress stretch ever so slightly. Taylor's advice about not inhaling too deeply, she decided immediately, had worth._

"_Sorry," she whispered, trying to keep her voice as low as possible. "Got turned around."_

"_That's okay," he replied. "I was beginning to think you'd ditched me."_

"_Forgot my ticket," she told him. "Little twerp on the door didn't want to let me back in."_

"_Is that so?" he asked. "I'll have a word with him when we get out … "_

"_Leave it," she advised him. "Can we just watch the movie? What've I missed? Who's that?"_

"_Oh, that's the main character, Steelheart," he explained. "He's just failed to save that bus full of schoolkids. Wasn't strong enough."_

"_Oh, wow," she murmured. "That's terrible." She picked up what she presumed was her cup and took a sip. It was still cold, but the melting ice had diluted it somewhat, and it was kind of flat. But she drank it anyway, and it helped with her dry throat._

"_You're telling me," he replied._

_She sipped at her cup again in lieu of an answer, and concentrated on watching the movie over the top of her glasses._

_**Taylor, hurry back soon. I don't know how long I can keep this up.**_

-ooo-

Finally locating the glasses, I fitted them on to my face, and the world sprang into focus. I stood in the toilet cubicle, in just my underwear, and the clothes Anne-Rose had been wearing were folded neatly on the toilet seat.

_Right then._

The black T-shirt went first; I pulled it on over my head, glasses and all, then pulled the cloth cap down over my head to hide my short hair. After that, the jeans and the sneakers; Anne-Rose had thoughtfully included a belt, which was useful; I was a little narrower in the hips than she was. Over the top of the shirt went a green and white hoodie; I didn't know whether she'd been wearing the hood up or down, but I went with 'down'. After that, I picked up my handbag and slung it back over my shoulder.

_Go time._

Taking a deep breath, I unlocked the cubicle door and was just about to open it, when I remembered. _Glasses. Anne-Rose hadn't been wearing any when she came __**in**__ here._

Pulling them off again, I folded and palmed them, then pulled the cubicle open. Two women were washing their hands; as I emerged, they turned to give me what I presumed were speculative looks. Trying not to blush too hard, I headed for where I remembered the door to be; at the last moment, I realised where it really was, turned a little, and yanked it open. Giggles followed me out.

The lobby was blurry, but I could find _those_ doors easily enough, as opposed to the white-doors-on-white-walls in the bathroom. As soon as I was outside, I put the glasses back on, then looked around. _Danny's car, Danny's car, Danny's car …_

It wasn't anywhere in sight. Beginning to feel the strain once more, I looked around, then headed for the corner. And around the corner, right there, was the car. Old, a little weatherbeaten, it was still one of the most beautiful sights that I'd ever seen. Striding over to where it was parked at the curb, I pulled open the passenger door and got in.

"Well, thank fuck," Gladys told me. "I was beginning to think you'd never get here."

I could have kissed her. I didn't, but I could have. Instead, I let my gratitude pour into my voice. "Thank you _so much_ for helping out at such short notice."

She nodded as I fastened my seatbelt. "Okay, so what's going on here? Andrea called me up, said that Danny would be coming to pick me up, that you needed my help. And now you've come out wearing the same outfit that Anne-Rose wore _into_ the place."

"Yeah, it's kind of a shell game," I explained. "I told you about the cop who wants to date me, right?"

"Yeah," she agreed. "Anne-Rose is in there pretending to be you? Why?"

"Can we drive?" I pointed straight ahead. "I'll explain on the way."

-ooo-

"_Comfortable?"_

_Kinsey looked up from where he sat at the table. His ankles were fastened to his chair legs by thick bone bands; around his wrists were more conventional handcuffs. Two men were standing just inside the doorway; one had a stun-gun, while the other had a heavy baton. He really wanted to have some words up close and personal with the man holding the stun gun; it was that which had brought him down in the fight._

_But his attention wasn't on that man; it was on Marquis, who was standing in the doorway itself, regarding him with a certain level of detachment._

"_So-so," he replied, with a shrug that clanked the cuffs on the table. If he could get hold of a metal strip of some sort, he could pick them, he knew. But the room seemed devoid of handy metal strips. "I've been on worse training courses."_

"_Good to hear," Marquis replied, with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Your Captain hasn't rung back yet. She has to know that time is running out for you."_

"_She's not going to buckle down to you," Kinsey told him evenly. "You're nothing but a two-bit thug with some powers. I've seen your type before. As soon as you meet some real opposition, you fold like wet tissue paper."_

_Abruptly, a bone spear had crossed the room, and was pricking at the hollow in the base of Kinsey's throat. Kinsey stopped speaking, stopped breathing. He held himself very still._

"_You would do well, Sergeant, to recall to whom you are speaking," Marquis stated, his voice still calm and unhurried. He didn't seem to care about the spear which had erupted from his left shoulder. "I have a certain reputation in this town. If one of my minions fails me, he disappears – utterly. He is never seen or heard of again. The question you need to ask yourself is this; if I do that to my employees, what must I do to my __**enemies**__?"_

_The spear retracted a few inches; Kinsey took that as permission to speak._

"_I don't know about __**your**__ enemies, but I've seen what Captain Snow does to __**her**__ enemies." The skin around his eyes creased as he surveyed Marquis. "If I know the Captain, you weren't on that list, not until you took me. But now you've jumped on it with both feet. And you are so very, __**very**__ fucked."_

-ooo-

"So wait, you're going up against _Marquis?"_ exclaimed Gladys._ "_Are you _nuts?"_

"No," I told her honestly. "Just pissed."

She took a deep breath. "Okay. Just tell me what you want me to do."

"You're doing it." I gestured at the car. "Driving me to and from."

"And that's _it?"_ She frowned. "You don't want me to shoot anyone?"

"You told me not to call on you for that any more," I reminded her. "So I'm not. Uh, turn left here."

"Oh." She complied with my direction. "Are you sure you don't need help?"

I looked at her. In the dimness, I could make out her set expression. "Uh, are you offering?"

"Shit, I don't know. You're going up against _Marquis."_

"Lot safer than Allfather or Butcher," I pointed out. "Worst he'll do is humiliate us and kick us out."

"You're certain of that."

"Deadly."

"Oh, I _wish_ you hadn't said it that way."

I shrugged. "Sorry. Pull in here."

She pulled the car into the alley that I had indicated, and stopped; we got out. I put my handbag on the hood of the car, and pulled out my shoulder rig. Removing the hoodie and cap, I strapped on the holster, ensuring that the Glock was secure in it. Then I pulled out a belt and slung it over my other shoulder; even on the last hole, it was never going to fit around my waist. On the belt was another holster, carrying Kinsey's massive .44 calibre hand-cannon.

"Hey, why do _you_ get two pistols?" asked Gladys, sounding hurt.

"The other one's for Kinsey when I find him," I explained. "But here, I brought something along, just in case. You can have it." I tossed it to her; she caught it, opening her hand to reveal an extendible baton.

With a sharp flick of her wrist, she opened it to its full length, then took a couple of practice swipes with it. I could _hear_ the way it hummed through the air. A smile spread across her face, one with lots of teeth in it. "Oh, I _like _it."

Taking one last item from my bag – Kinsey's favourite clasp-knife – I tucked it into the pocket of Anne-Rose's jeans, then dropped the bag on the front seat, and closed the door. "Well, if you're in, you're in. If you're not, then you can stay with the car."

"You know something?" asked Gladys. "I'm gonna be Vice Principal. Maybe Principal some day. How the hell could I face all those little shits, knowing that I stepped back from something like this? I'm in."

I clasped her hand, then bumped knuckles with her. "Okay. Let's do this thing."

* * *

End of Part 4-10


	30. Chapter 30

**/o\**

* * *

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 4-11: Shell Game

* * *

Time was ticking away in my head; I knew the approximate time that the body in the street was due to be discovered. Subtract from that the time that Anne-Rose and I needed to swap out in the bathrooms, and the travel time between this place and the movie theatre, and from the movie theatre to Andrea's place … we had a little leeway. But not much.

Unlike Galvanate, Marquis didn't make his men near-invulnerable. He just ensured their loyalty by making sure that any man who failed him significantly was never seen again. I had to presume that he didn't inflict this kind of punishment on someone who didn't properly make his morning cup of coffee; it probably required more than that, given the fact that he still had men working for him. But I was reasonably certain that they wouldn't be permitted to go against his personal code. Which, in this case, involved not hurting women.

This _was_ precisely the same strategy that the Brockton Bay Brigade would use against him when they were due to take him down in just over six years, but in this case, it was for a good cause. Kinsey's life, after all, _did_ hang in the balance.

-ooo-

The safe house in question was actually an abandoned storefront; Marquis had placed men around it in pairs. I appreciated the forethought of the move, while wishing that he had been a little less efficient about it. As it was, I had to wait till Gladys got into position before making my own move. Time was ticking away, and we hadn't even gotten inside yet.

Of course, once we _did,_ things were going to happen very quickly indeed.

I had two of them in my line of sight as I strolled casually down the alleyway; they looked like drunks sleeping it off, but Lisa had pinpointed them for me, so I knew they were more than that. Really, it was kind of unfair; Marquis was going for 'security by obscurity', but with my particular advantages, I could see straight through the subterfuge. Of course, I had never believed in giving the other guy a fair fight, and I wasn't about to start now.

They straightened up from their slumped positions as I neared them, and the door they were guarding. One of them spat noisily in the gutter, a move calculated to make me veer off. Instead, I came closer.

"Hey, get outta here," the other guy slurred, lurching to his feet. "Ain't a good place for a woman."

Reaching up with my left hand, I pushed back the hood, showing my face. "Really?" I asked. "I'm here for the date with your boss. Captain Snow, remember?"

It was obvious that he did remember me; he stared, then frowned. "Wait a minute. How did you -?"

I kept moving toward him; his buddy stood, and they both pulled pistols. "Stand right where you are," the first one ordered. "Arms out to the side."

"You do realise, if you shoot me, you'll wish that Marquis had only killed you." My voice was calm, matter-of-fact.

"If I gotta shoot you, I'll kill you, and I'll make sure the body's never found." So was his.

Gladys was good, I had to admit. She was very quiet on her feet as she sneaked up behind them; the other guy never heard her coming. But he certainly felt it when the extendible baton whipped through the air to impact with the side of his jaw. It was a difficult shot, taken from behind, but she pulled it off.

The one facing me heard the _crack_ of breaking bone; he reacted, turning fast. But not fast enough. I came in, catching his right wrist with my left hand, and smashing him in the face with my right elbow. He staggered, and I kicked him in the crotch with all the force that I could muster. As he began to double up, I cupped my right hand around the back of his head, pulling him down faster; my right knee came up to meet his already-ruined nose.

He dropped; I kept hold of his right wrist, stepping over it and twisting his arm against my leg. His elbow broke like dry kindling; I plucked the pistol from his hand and let him fall the rest of the way. I was just checking chamber on the pistol when Gladys came over to me. She looked down at the man at my feet, then up at me, her eyes wide. "Damn, girl," she murmured. "Do you have issues, or do you fight like that all the time?"

"Oh?" I tucked the pistol into the back of my waistband, retrieved the second man's pistol, and checked it as well. "Oh, no, that's how Kinsey taught me how to fight."

"Christ," she muttered. "Now I see why you gave me the baton. You didn't _need_ it."

"Happier with a pistol," I admitted, rubbing my elbow. "Here, you have this one. I'll have Kinsey's back, thanks."

Accepting the firearm, she unlooped the length of Kinsey's belt from over her shoulder – I hadn't been able to carry it for the approach, for obvious reasons – and handed it back to me. I slung it across my chest, then unzipped the hoodie. The small Glock in its shoulder holster was ready for use; I drew it, then swapped it into my left hand.

"Okay," I told her. "We'll be going in hard and fast. I'll shoot anything in the way; you stay a room behind me and mop up, the way we practised. Once we're fully invested, keep an eye on our six, because the other guards might come in that way."

She nodded briefly. "Okay." However, the white-knuckled grip on the baton gave away her nerves.

"Gladys." The tone of my voice made her stop and look at me. "There are exactly three people I'd prefer to have at my back in this sort of situation. One of them's in that room. Emily's out on ops somewhere. You're the third. I _trust_ you in this. Got it?"

She took a deep breath; it seemed to steady her nerves. "Got it. Let's go kick some ass."

I grinned, showing my teeth. "Let's do this thing."

-ooo-

"_So tell me about your Captain Snow," Marquis invited. "You seem to have a high opinion of the woman. What's so special about her?"_

_Kinsey grinned tightly, all the while testing his legs against the bone bonds holding them in place. It was no good; they were as solid as rock. "She's done things that you wouldn't believe. Things that __**I**__ have trouble believing, and I saw her do them."_

"_What sort of things?"_

"_Nope." Kinsey shook his head. "Can't tell you. I'd like to hang on to my clearance level."_

"_I'm fairly certain that your life is more important than a ridiculous security clearance."_

"_Fine. I'll tell you this much. My career was in the toilet, and she rescued me. Gave me a chance to redeem myself. I've worked every day, ever since then, to match up to the trust she's shown me. She hasn't doubted me, not once, not ever. The day I betray Captain Snow is the day I eat a bullet."_

"_You love her." Marquis' voice was light, amused, in contrast with Kinsey's deeper tones._

_Kinsey grimaced. "You're delusional. She's my commanding officer, and I have every respect for her -"_

"_You __**love**__ her. Ha. Of course. It would be clear to a blind man." Marquis' face was alive with delight. "And you serve her faithfully, just so that you can earn her praise. Have you ever told her how you feel?"_

_Kinsey gritted his teeth. "You have no idea what you're talking about."_

"_So you haven't. Do you think she knows? A lady so intelligent, so insightful, how could she not? But does she look at you as Kinsey the man, or Kinsey the Sergeant? Have you never wished to step closer to her, take her in your arms, look into her eyes -"_

_There was a loud bang as Kinsey brought both fists down on the table; Marquis raised one eyebrow. "Temper, Sergeant. Temper."_

"_One more word about the Captain," ground out Kinsey. "__**One more word**__, and I'll come over this table, chair or no chair, and I will squeeze the life from your throat with my bare hands."_

_Marquis leaned down, placing his hands on the other side of the table at which Kinsey sat._

"_You can do nothing to me, Sergeant, which I do not all-"_

_He was cut off by an explosion of firing from the next room. One moment silence, the next a full-on firefight. Marquis turned toward the door in question, a bone weapon of some sort forming in his hands. At the same time, the bone bands spread to cover his body. Kinsey didn't hesitate; he braced himself and shoved the table as hard as he could into Marquis' back._

_The four men in the room were just starting to pull their own pistols when the door burst open. Marquis may have been able to react in time, but he was staggering from the blow to his back. Even as the figure of Captain Snow appeared in the doorway, there were two shots, and the villain went down, kneecaps blown out. More staccato shots rang out, the Captain servicing targets as coolly as on the firing range. With each shot, a man dropped; in these close quarters, she barely had to do more than eyeball the targets._

"_Kinsey!" she yelled, while shooting to the left and right of him, to get at two men almost behind him. Her gun barrel jerked upward slightly. He took the hint, raising his cuffed hands high. The next shot passed between them, severing the handcuff chains. She had already dropped the pistol in her right hand; her hand dipped, and then an object was hurtling toward him; he recognised it as his .44. Catching it, he pointed it straight down at the bone bands holding his legs to the chair, and fired; the calcitic restraint shattered, and he was free._

_She was now just holding her holdout weapon; he stepped in, back to back with her. There were other doors, other rooms. A man showed himself at one, then ducked back; Kinsey's hand-cannon boomed once, shooting through the wall eighteen inches back from the door frame. The man's body flopped forward into view a second later, but Kinsey was already firing at another doorway. Behind him, Captain Snow fired three times, then stopped. She tilted her head at the sound of shooting outside._

"_That's all of them in here," she decided. "You all right, Kinsey?"_

"_A little cramped from all the sitting around, ma'am," he replied. "What kept you?"_

"_I had to arrange for a date," she told him._

"_Beg pardon, ma'am?"_

"_Long story. Tell you later. Get the brass. Only the polished ones." As he complied, she stepped over to where Marquis lay on the floor. He turned his face up to hers, looking right into the barrel of her small Glock._

"_Damnation," muttered the villain. "Did you kill all my men?"_

"_Only the ones I had to," she replied. "Some might survive. You will. I only shot out your kneecaps."_

"_Why so lenient, ma'am?" Kinsey slipped the last of the brightly-polished bullet casings into his pocket and thumbed back the hammer on his pistol; in the quiet room, the sound was ominous in the extreme. "One shot, and another problem gone from the world."_

_But she shook her head. "No, Kinsey. It suits me to leave him alive and free. This time."_

_Kinsey frowned. "But __**why**__, ma'am?"_

"_Much as I hate to agree with a musclebound brute, and much as I hate to appear ignorant … yes, dear lady, why?"_

_Captain Snow shook her head with something that may have been a smile. "One of these days, we'll meet again. And on that day, I will place you under arrest. Until then, you will leave me and mine alone, or I __**will **__come back to Brockton Bay. And on that day ... you will never see me coming." Dropping to a crouch, she looked into Marquis' eyes. "Do I have your complete attention, or do I need to start grinding my gun barrel into your wounds?"_

"_You have my attention," he admitted. "You and yours will be left alone."_

"_Good." She stood, moved over to where she had discarded the empty pistol. Using the corner of her hoodie, she cleaned the prints from it, and dropped it once more. "I'll leave you to your own devices now. Have a good night."_

_Kinsey shadowed her to the door; as she was about to leave, Marquis called out. "Captain Snow?"_

_She turned. "Yes?"_

_His smile was painful but genuine. "It would have been a romance for the ages."_

_She snorted, but one corner of her mouth quirked upward. "If you say so."_

_Kinsey paused, looked back. "Told you so." Then he followed her from the room._

_**He'd**__ never had the slightest doubt that she would come for him._

-ooo-

There were two men lying in the outer room, and one more in the doorway. As we stepped outside, Gladys laid out one last man with a punch to the solar plexus and another to the jaw.

"Ran out of bullets," she explained, "and I dropped the baton. Oh, there it is." Leaning down, she retrieved the weapon, which appeared to have more than a little blood on it. "It, uh, might need cleaning. Or something."

"I'll take care of it," I advised her dryly, accepting it from her and collapsing it. Holstering the Glock, I handed Kinsey's weapon belt to him. "Where's the pistol you were using?"

Picking it up, she handed it to me; I wiped it clean, then dropped it once more. "Coming, Kinsey?"

The Sergeant was looking at the men on the ground, then back at the others inside. Finally, he looked at Gladys. _"You_ did all this?"

"Uh, Taylor did that one," she noted, pointing out the man whom I had first approached. "But yeah, I did the rest of them." She rubbed her face; a bruise was starting to show under her eye. "One of them tagged me."

His face was a study in consternation. "The Captain obviously did not fill me in on exactly how capable you really are."

"Walk now, talk later," I urged them. "We're on the clock."

"Shit, yeah," she agreed. "Okay, let's go."

* * *

Sirens were starting to sound really close as we got back to the car; gang neighbourhood or not, a firefight like that was going to draw attention. Kinsey and I climbed into the back seat, and Gladys gunned the engine. Once the initial acceleration wore off, I reached down into the footwell and retrieved the bolt cutters that I'd had Gladys bring. It wasn't easy in the jolting car, but I managed to snip first one then the other bracelet from his wrists. They had left marks, but I wasn't worried about that. Opening the window, I wiped the the incriminating items, then tossed them out into the street.

"Back to the theatre?" asked Gladys.

"Back to the theatre," I agreed.

"Theatre?" asked Kinsey. "Why are we going to a theatre?"

"_We_ aren't," I told him. _"I_ am. _You're_ going back to Andrea's."

"But why are you going to a theatre, ma'am?"

"I'm on a date. Right now, I'm in that theatre, watching a movie. With a date. Who happens to be a police officer."

He shook his head. "Ma'am, I confess myself to be totally at a loss. But I'll trust you on this."

I smiled. "Thank you, Kinsey."

Gladys brought the car into a screeching halt, just around the corner from the theatre. I climbed out, barely remembering to bring the bag along, but leaving the pistols and the shoulder holster for Kinsey to take care of. With my hood up, I headed for the theatre.

-ooo-

_Anne-Rose tried not to squirm. Kimball had his arm over her shoulders now, and was trying to edge her close to him. She was pretending to not notice, staring fixedly at the fuzzy image of the screen that she had through Taylor's glasses._

_**If he tries one more time to kiss me, this time I'm not going to elbow him **_**gently**_**.**_

_Just as she thought that she was going to have to go ahead and do it, her elbow poised and ready, a pager went off. She had half a second to feel annoyance, until she realised that it was __**his**__ pager. __**Oh, thank god.**_

_"Oh, you have to be kidding me," he muttered as he took his arm from her shoulders – she did her best to hide her sigh of relief – and fished the offending device from his belt. For a moment, she thought that he was going to merely turn it off, but with an aggravated sigh of his own, he read the message on the tiny screen._

_Oblivious to the glares of the other patrons – this must not be the first time this had happened to him, she realised – he climbed past her to the aisle. "Gotta make a phone call," he murmured._

_"See you when you get back," she replied, just as quietly. But she didn't relax until he started up the aisle._

_**Hurry back, Taylor. The movie's almost over, and I don't know how much longer I can politely fend him off.**_

-ooo-

I was almost at the theatre doors when they opened, and Kimball stepped out. _Oh shit, _was my first thought. _He's twigged that Anne-Rose wasn't me._ But on second glance, I realised that Anne-Rose wasn't with him, and he was holding a pager in his hand. _He's been called in on one or other of the homicides. Shit._

That was when I realised that I was still wearing my glasses; reaching up, I whipped them off.

Too quickly, I realised a moment later, as the movement drew his eyes to me. He looked me full in the face for just a second; still distracted by the pager, he was slow to come to the realisation. But it would happen in just another few seconds -

Danny's face interposed between mine and Kimball's. "Sweetie!" he greeted me loudly, putting his arms around me; instinctively, I did the same for him. "I've been waiting _forever_ for you!" And then he kissed me.

He kept his lips closed and so did I; all the same, we both made protracted _mmmm_ noises. He embellished this with a loud smacking noise as he drew away, pulling my hood down over my face a little more as he did so. Behind him, I saw the blurry form of Kimball heading over to the nearby phone box; our little charade had hopefully fooled him.

"Come on, let's go in," he urged me.

We headed inside; the moment the doors closed behind me, I turned to him. "You _kissed_ me!" I hissed.

"No tongue," he pointed out. "And it did the job."

"Well, true," I admitted. And thinking back, I'd let Lieutenant Calvert kiss me once upon a time, and that had been a much less pleasant affair. And on this occasion, it had well and truly saved my bacon. "Thanks. For the quick thinking."

"My pleasure," he told me with a boyish grin; just as I realised the double meaning behind his words, he pointed at the ladies' bathrooms. "You might want to go in. I'll get Anne-Rose."

Slipping on the glasses one more time to get my bearings, I headed for the bathrooms.

-ooo-

_"So you've got a dead man in midtown, and a bunch more over at the other site?" asked Kimball, notepad out and pen busy, phone wedged into his shoulder. "How are these all connected?"_

_**"They're all Marquis men," **__his partner told him. __**"And get this. There's a car right next to the dead man. It's all beat up, windows smashed. Evidence that a brawl happened right on top of it."**_

_"Yeah, so?"_

_**"It's a hire car. Out of Chicago. I'll give you one guess as to whose name's on the lease."**_

_"You're __**shitting**__ me," breathed Kimball._

_**"That's right, buddy. None other than Captain Taylor Snow, Parahuman Response Teams."**_

_"Wait, wait," protested Kimball. "What are you saying? That since her run-in with Marquis, she's decided to go vigilante and clean up the town?"_

_**"Wouldn't surprise me, buddy. Prelim forensics at the multiple homicide shows single-shot kills, centre head. And you **_**saw **_**how she can shoot."**_

_"But you said the single dead guy was beaten to death. She's good, but could she do that?"_

_**"No, but that big sergeant of hers could do that easily."**_

_"Yes. He could. Say, when was that firefight reported?"_

_**"Fifteen minutes ago. Why?"**_

_"Timeline doesn't work. Captain Snow's got an alibi."_

_**"What? How? Who?"**_

_He took a deep breath. "Me. I'm on a date with her. We're at the movies."_

_**"You're at the movies. With our suspect."**_

_"Yes. I've been sitting next to her for the last hour and a half."_

_**"Well, fuck."**_

_"Look, something's weird about this. You know where Snow's staying?"_

_**"Yeah. She and her sergeant have been living at an old friend's place. Girl by the name of Campbell."**_

_"Yeah, I know her. You might want to canvass that place, just in case."_

_**"Already taken care of, buddy. Sent uniforms over there as soon as confirmation came back on the hire car thing."**_

_"Good. Let me know how things turn out. Most especially, if Kinsey's actually there."_

_**"What do you mean?"**_

_"Okay, how's this for a scenario. Marquis wants something out of Snow. Maybe revenge for showing him up, maybe something else."_

_**"Okay, that makes sense."**_

_"So he sends his men to kidnap that sergeant. But it goes south, and one of the guys gets killed."_

_**"I know I wouldn't want to try conclusions with him."**_

_"Nor me. So. He's got the sergeant, he contacts Snow, she arranges a rescue."_

_**"Except that there's no other PRT personnel in town that we know of, and sure as hell nobody who shoots that good."**_

_"So it had to be her on the ground."_

_**"Except that you say you've been sitting next to her all this time."**_

_"Yeah. Fuck. Apart from that, it all holds together."_

_**"So where are you going to attend?"**_

_"You take the multiple; you're there already, right?"_

_**"I am. Oh; fun fact."**_

_"Yeah?"_

_**"We've got more bullet-holes than shell casings. Some from a larger calibre than any weapon found on the scene, and no casings at all from that. Some of the brass is missing."**_

_"They policed it up."_

_**"Or they used revolvers. We dug a bullet from the floorboards that would fit a larger calibre, but it's a soft lead hollowpoint. No ballistics worth a damn."**_

_"This is special ops shit, right there."_

_**"No kidding. What branch did you say your girlfriend was from?"**_

_"Intelligence. Or so I thought."_

_**"Sounds more like double-oh bullshit to me."**_

_"Well, I'm gonna go back in and have a talk to her, then drive her home and see if her friend Ms Campbell tells the same story."_

_**"No. You hold her there. I'll send someone else along to pick her up."**_

_"What the hell, man?"_

_**"You know the rules as well as I do. You're on a date with her. This makes you automatically compromised."**_

_"Ah, fuck. Seriously?"_

_**"Seriously. Just keep her there. Someone will be along in a while. Okay?"**_

_"Okay. Fine. I'll hold her here."_

_**"And don't discuss the case with her."**_

_"Christ, all __**right**__. I got it, already."_

_He hung up, and turned back toward the theatre. __**Taylor, what the **_**fuck**_** is going on?**_

-ooo-

_Kinsey pulled the cleaning cloth out of the bore of the .44 and inspected it in the glare of a passing street light. "Good enough," he decided, and began to reassemble the pistol. Despite the lack of light, the movement of the car, and the less than optimal conditions, he had it back together in less than forty seconds._

_"Okay, wow," Gladys commented, keeping her eyes on the road as she swung the car around another corner. "Taylor was pretty good at that before she joined the PRT. But you just cleaned two pistols and a baton in less than ten minutes, in a moving car. That's just plain impressive."_

_"I'm trained for it, ma'am," he pointed out, reloading each weapon with the spare magazines that he had found in the Captain's handbag, and slotting them into their respective holsters. "Personally, I'm quite impressed that a high school teacher was able to participate to the degree that you did, tonight. Not to mention, very thankful."_

_"I took my ROTC training very seriously," she noted. "And I've kept up some aspects of it, since."_

_"Such as boxing," he observed._

_"Such as boxing," she agreed. Pulling to a halt, she nodded to him. "This is your stop. See you later, Jim."_

_Reaching forward between the seats, he shook her hand. "See you later, Gladys."_

_He climbed out of the car, taking the handbag with him; the car moved off down the road. Turning, he headed into the building._

-ooo-

_Andrea heard the brisk knocking on the door and leaped up. Peering through the peephole, she recognised Jim's blocky silhouette almost immediately; hastily, she unlocked the door._

_"Come in, quick!" she gasped, dragging him inside. He looked a little taken aback at her attire; this was not surprising, as she was wearing just a flimsy robe over even flimsier panties. Closing the door, she locked it before grabbing him, pulling him down to her level, and kissing him thoroughly._

_To his credit, he kissed her properly in return; when they separated, she was breathing a little heavily. "Not that I'm not pleased to see you, but -" he began._

_"But nothing. Get your clothes off and into the shower," she ordered. "You stink of guns." She grabbed the handbag from him. "I'll take care of this."_

* * *

_He watched her barely-clad rear end dart from the room, and shrugged. Right now, she knew what was going on better than he did, so that put her in charge. "Yes, ma'am," he muttered, heading for the bathroom, pulling his shirt off as he went._

_Thirty seconds into the shower, he had his head lathered, and his hands covered in soap; the last thing he wanted was for some busybody local cop to find GSR on his hands. And then the stall door opened, and a familiar body pressed up against his._

_"Andrea?" he asked, opening his eyes._

_"Who else?" she murmured, with a smothered giggle. "Come on, I'm trying to get you in the mood here. Work with me."_

_"But you – but I – the Captain –"_

_"Worked the whole plan out. This is part of it." She did something extremely naughty with her hands then, and he could not help but respond. Her body was smooth and warm and rounded under his hands. "Oh yeah, that's more like it."_

_But then she opened the door and slipped out. He stared after her. "What ...?"_

_She had already grabbed a towel and was vigorously drying herself off; he could not help but watch in fascination as various body parts were exposed and covered again. "Here." She thrust another towel at him. "Get dried. Race you to the bedroom.'_

_Never had he dried himself off in such a hurried and haphazard fashion; she only just beat him there. And then the real fun started._

-ooo-

No-one was paying attention to me as I soaped my hands almost to the elbow, then dried them off. Next, I ran water over my head, rubbing a little hand soap into my hair. It wouldn't do for shampoo, but it would assist in getting rid of the smell of burnt cellulose. Just as I was flushing that out, Anne-Rose burst into the bathrooms.

"He nearly caught me," she gasped.

"Stall, quick," I ordered.

She ducked into one; as I went to step into the next, another woman went to take it. "Mine," I snapped.

"I was here first," she retorted, reaching for the door while fending me off. I took her hand and twisted her wrist, dropping her to her knees.

"Ow, hey!" she protested.

_"My. Stall," _I explained.

"Okay, fine. Your fucking stall. Bitch."

I let that go and allowed her up, then stepped into the stall. Just as I pushed the door closed, she kicked it from the outside; it nearly hit me in the face. This time, I slammed the stall door shut and engaged the lock; it would have taken too long to deal with her, and she wasn't worth it in the long run anyway.

The dress was already draped over the partition; I pulled off the hoodie and thrust it through the lower gap, just as the woman outside kicked my door again, rattling it on its hinges. The hoodie disappeared and I sent the T-shirt after, then kicked off the sneakers. Finally, I started wriggling out of the jeans.

My flats came back to me through the gap, then I bundled the jeans up and slid them through, with the sneakers following. The woman outside kicked the door again, and this time it jolted open; as she stepped forward, I turned and straight-armed her in the face. The last of her I saw as I pushed the door shut was her astonished expression as she sat down hard on the floor.

"Gonna need to borrow your handbag," I called softly. "Left mine elsewhere."

"Okay, sure," Anne-Rose agreed; as I wriggled into the dress, it came sliding under the partition. "Just get it back to me when you're done."

Carefully, I zipped up the dress and slipped my feet into the flats. My perfume was still in her bag, and I touched it up, just to cover any remaining smell of gunsmoke. Slinging the bag on my shoulder, I opened the stall door and stepped out.

Of course, the woman was still there. "You bitch!" she screamed. "I'll -" She paused. "What the _fuck?"_

There was nobody else in the bathrooms at that moment, for which I was glad. The woman stared at me, at my outfit. "What the fuck's going on here? You weren't dressed like that a minute ago."

"Maybe because it wasn't me that you're talking about." I didn't have much hope of pulling this off, but I decided to try anyway.

"No, no, fuck, no, you went in there. That stall. And then you changed clothes. What the fuck's going on here?"

This was the sort of attention that I didn't need. "The stall's free now. You can use it. Go ahead. All these stalls are free. Be my guest." I started to move away.

"No, bitch, you come back here. You're not going anywhere." She grabbed, not at my arm, but at my dress.

_Oh, for god's sake. I don't have time for this._

I knocked her hand aside, and spent a good tenth of a second deciding not to hurt her too badly, although the temptation was definitely there. Already that evening, I had killed at least six people, and wounded a couple more. I couldn't punch her, because Kimball might wonder about skinned knuckles, and I couldn't kick her, because he definitely _would_ wonder about a dress that was split up to my armpit.

So I slammed the heel of my hand up under her jaw, making her teeth smack together and sending her staggering backward, a little dazed. Then I grabbed her, spun her around, and put her in a sleeper hold. She struggled a little, but was still dazed, and went down relatively quickly.

Anne-Rose exited her stall at about this time, and stared as the woman sagged in my arms. "What the hell?"

"Don't ask," I advised her. "Just help me get her into a stall."

Together, we wrestled her into a stall and sat her on the seat. I pulled the door closed and held out my hand to Anne-Rose. "Back pocket. Clasp knife."

She blinked and fetched it out. "What were you doing carrying a clasp knife?"

"In case I needed to cut something." Opening it one-handed – which is difficult, but useful if you know the trick – I stabbed the point into the soft plastic centre of the VACANT/OCCUPIED indicator. Twisting my wrist, I rotated the indicator, engaging the lock. Then I pulled the knife out, closed it, and dropped it into the bag.

"You're just going to leave her there?"

I looked at Anne-Rose. "Yes. She'll wake up, open the door, and walk out. In about five minutes from now. Which will be about four minutes thirty after I leave. Now, how do I look?"

Looking at me critically, she nodded. "Yeah, you look okay. Oh, here, your spare glasses."

"Thanks." I dropped them in the bag as well. "Okay, wait about thirty seconds after I leave. All right?"

"Thirty seconds. Got it."

"And thanks for the help tonight."

She shook her head slightly. "I'm sure James Bond has it easier than me. Your boyfriend put his arm over my shoulders, tried to kiss me twice."

I grinned. "He's not my boyfriend, but in any case, I'll be leaving soon, so you can go back to your nice boring life."

"Just tell me this much – did it work?"

"Yeah, it did." I smiled. "Kinsey's safe and well."

"Okay, then. It was worth it. Now go."

Turning toward the door, I took a deep breath and pushed it open. Down the short corridor, and out into the lobby. Kimball was waiting for me when I emerged. "Taylor, seriously. What the heck were you doing in there?"

"Well, I could give you _details,_ but I'm pretty sure you don't want those." I grinned as I took his arm and led him toward the doors. "What was next on the agenda? A moonlit walk on the Boardwalk?"

He stopped, and therefore, so did I. "We're not going to the Boardwalk."

"Okay then, where did you want to go?" I had turned to look at him, and I saw the bathroom door open, and Anne-Rose ease her way out.

"You're waiting right here with me, until someone comes to pick you up."

I tilted my head. "Comes to pick me up? You're not making any sense." I moved a few steps, around in a half-circle, and his gaze followed me. Behind his back, Anne-Rose strolled past, and out through the doors.

"You know what didn't make sense, Taylor? You calling me up for a date, all of a sudden." His voice was grim. "Unless you wanted to use me to cover something up. Use me for an alibi."

"Alibi. Really." I threw all the scorn I had into it. "I went to _dinner_ with you. I went to the _movies_ with you. And you call that setting up an 'alibi'? How's this alibi supposed to work, exactly?"

"I don't know … yet," he admitted.

"So, am I under arrest?"

"What?" He looked taken aback.

"Am. I. Under. Arrest? It's not a difficult question."

"No, you're not under arrest," he sighed.

"Can I at least know what's happened?" I asked. "After all, I _am_ Intelligence Division. I might be able to offer some insight."

"You're a potential suspect. Not allowed to discuss the case with you."

"Okay, fine," I retorted. "Can I at least be allowed to go home and change? Hopefully, my bedroom won't be quite as noisily occupied by now."

He paused. "You know … I never actually _saw_ what you said was happening with Ms Campbell and your sergeant. I just accepted what you _said _was happening."

Which was true, but I wasn't about to tell him that. Instead, I snorted. "What, would you have preferred that I give you a guided tour? Andrea wouldn't have minded an audience, but Kinsey might have objected."

"So, about your Sergeant Kinsey," he pressed. "If officers went to Ms Campbell's apartment about, oh, twenty minutes ago, would they have found him there?"

"I don't know," I told him. "Why don't we go there and find out? Or better yet, find a telephone and make a call? I have the number."

"I'll make the call." He strode out through the doors, and headed for the phone box. I followed along, hoping that nothing had gone wrong on that end. I was _fairly_ sure that Gladys had had enough time to get Kinsey home before officers got there as well, but I wasn't absolutely certain.

* * *

With my arms crossed, tapping my foot, I watched as Kimball dialled and waited for an answer. A few seconds passed, then the phone was picked up on the other end.

"This is Detective Kimball. Is Detective Parris there … oh, good. I need to talk to him."

A pause, then Kimball took a breath. "Parris, hey, it's Kimball. I have Captain Snow with me … how did it go there?"

I wasn't quite sure what Parris said on the other end, but Kimball's face fell slightly. "Really? So he was there?" A pause. "They were?" Another pause. "There's no doubt about it?"

He glanced at me, and I raised my eyebrows questioningly. Then he turned his attention back to the phone. "How about the weapons?" A pause. "Both? Have they been checked for having been fired recently? What, neither one? Both cleaned?"

"We did that this morning," I murmured.

He ignored me. "Have you checked the ammunition loaded in them? Copper jacketed? Not soft hollowpoints?" The answer evidently disappointed him. He rallied, though, and kept talking. "Listen, do you have _anything_ on either one of them?"

The answer was, once again, not one that he would have wanted. Slowly, he put the phone down, then turned to me. "Taylor, I'm going to ask you a question, and I want a truthful answer."

"Sure you don't want me in an interrogation room first?" I replied. "But sure, I'll answer your question."

He took a deep breath. "Are you a parahuman?"

I hadn't been quite sure what the question was going to be; he had managed to surprise me. "What? Seriously? Are you asking me that?" My voice must have conveyed my disbelief quite neatly. "No, Humphrey, I'm not a parahuman. I don't have powers. You don't get to _be_ a captain in the PRT if you've got powers."

"So how did you do it? Body double?"

"Really. You're going there." I rolled my eyes. "Body double. That I managed to arrange in what, one day? I'm good, but I'm not that good."

"Listen, I _know_ you did it," he insisted. "Not the guy at your car; I'm putting that down to Kinsey. But the others, that's gotta be your handiwork. I just don't know how you managed to make me think you were still sitting beside me."

"Oh, for god's sake," I snapped. "You tried to kiss me twice. Are you pissed because I was more interested in watching the movie than making out?"

"I – uh - "

"How did you know I was in the theatre? Because you had your arm over my shoulders. How could I have gone anywhere? You were _right there."_

"In the movie," he asked suddenly. "What happened to Wingman?"

"He was shot down by the terrorists, but survived," I replied promptly; I hadn't seen the movie, but Lisa had fed me details such as that. I put my hand on his shoulder, made my expression sympathetic. "Humphrey. You have to believe me. Whatever happened – _it wasn't me."_

Since I had ended up in Brockton Bay, six years before my own birth, I had faced off Alexandria twice. This would only get harder through the years, but so far I was ahead of the game. Compared to her, Humphrey Kimball was a pushover. I did feel kind of bad about it, though. It reminded me, long ago, of what I had done to Greg Veder under similar circumstances.

"_Fuck," _he grated. "I was so _sure._ It all fitted so _neatly."_

"I'm sorry," I told him, and I was. "But it's not that cut and dried, today. Whatever happened, someone else did it. Sometimes the easy solution isn't the correct one."

"I never said it was the _easy_ solution," he muttered; I immediately felt a little bit worse about putting him on the spot like that.

At that moment, a police car pulled in to the curb; the officer riding shotgun leaned out the window. "Detective Kimball?"

"Yeah, that's me," Kimball replied.

"We're here to escort your suspect down to the station."

"Yeah, there's a bit of a problem there," he replied heavily. "She's got an alibi. Me. I was sitting next to her the whole time that thing was going on."

"You're certain of that?" the officer asked. "Didn't duck out of the theatre for any part of the movie?"

"Only to go the bathroom," I told the officer with a smile. "The ticket attendant will verify that."

"Okay, fine, I'll call it in," the officer told him. "Safe night, Detective."

"And you," Kimball replied. He watched as the car drove off. "You realise, I _am_ going to have to check with the ticket attendant,"

"And he'll tell you that I went to the bathroom, then went straight back to the theatre," I countered. "I didn't set foot out of the doors." I sighed. "Nor are there any secret passages, teleporters or other weird devices in the ladies' bathrooms." _Just one unconscious troublemaker._

"Okay, fine, I believe you. Anyway, the more I think about it, the more I find it hard to believe that you'd know where to find your man, even if he was kidnapped."

I laughed out loud. "Oh god, _that's_ what you thought happened? No, I _told_ you. Kinsey was with Andrea."

"Which makes it a coincidence that your rental was the only vehicle to get trashed?"

My eyes widened. "Our rental car? Oh shit, how badly was it damaged?"

"I haven't seen it for myself, but apparently they smashed everything that could be smashed."

"Crap," I muttered. "There goes the security deposit."

"You're really worried about that?" he asked. "People are _dead."_

"Behemoth," I reminded him steadily. "New York. People died there too. _Thousands_ of people. I watched it happen, live. You say that these people who were killed were criminals? I'm sorry, but I can't really muster much sympathy for them. I'm saving it for the innocents."

"Fine," he grunted. "I'll drive you home."

"Thank you."

The air of strained civility remained between us as we headed down the street toward where he had parked his car. As we climbed in, I saw my troublemaker friend wander out of the theatre, looking more than a little upset. It wasn't my problem; I closed the door and fastened my seatbelt.

-ooo-

* * *

**The Next Day**

* * *

"Marquis has apparently decided to cut his losses," I explained. "He wouldn't talk to the cops about this sort of thing anyway. They've got no leads; or rather, their best lead has a really good alibi."

Gladys leaned back against the sofa and nudged Danny. "So we got to pull a full-on raid against a supervillain, while Danny here got to hang around a theatre, keeping lookout."

"And _I_ had to pretend to be you," Anne-Rose put in. "I'm still not thrilled about that, mind you."

I decided to make it up to her in some way; maybe a vacation to Hawaii for their honeymoon. "Well, I appreciate it. If not for you, I'd be answering a whole lot of awkward questions, first from the locals, then from my boss."

Kinsey nodded at my words. "What the Captain said. I appreciate it, all of you. You went above and beyond, to help her rescue me." He put his arm around Andrea; she snuggled up to him. "Especially you."

Andrea giggled. "It was fun."

Anne-Rose had a look of fascinated horror on her face. "Please tell me you didn't actually -"

"Yup." Andrea's expression was pure glee. "The cops knocked on the door … "

-ooo-

_Officer Bob McAuley had done this many times. He'd been offered tea, had abuse screamed at him, and been spat on, at least two separate occasions. It was a never-ending process, going from door to door, asking the same damn questions, over and over, until they were burned into his brain. Have you seen this man? Have you seen this woman? Do you know who this is? Over and over again._

_On this occasion, it was a good deal simpler. Along with his partner Danny Fargo, he had to go to one address and ascertain the presence or absence of just one person. They'd even been issued with a written description. Caucasian male, about six feet tall, very broad in the shoulders, dark hair, very short cut, clean shaven. No known identifying marks. Sergeant James McMartin Kinsey of the Parahuman Response Teams._

_Raising his knuckles, he glanced at Fargo, who faded back toward the side of the door, one hand on his gun butt. Even in midtown, it was wise to be prepared. He went to knock, then paused. "You hear that?"_

"_Hear what?" Fargo frowned._

"_Some kinda noise from inside. Sounds like someone crying out."_

"_Wait one." Fargo cupped his hands, placed them on the door, put his ear to it. A moment passed, then he grinned broadly. "Well, damn."_

"_Well damn what?" McAuley asked impatiently. "Is that a good 'well damn' or a bad 'well damn'?"_

_Fargo chuckled. "I dunno if it's that Kinsey guy in there, but whoever is, he's __**gettin' **__some."_

_McAuley rolled his eyes. "Well, we gotta sight the guy, so here goes." Raising his hand once more, he rapped loudly on the door._

_There was no response, so he rapped again. The door didn't open, but doors up and down the hallway did, people peering out. He kept his attention on the door; this time, he thumped on it with his fist. "Open up!" he called. "Police!"_

_After a moment, the tiny spot of light on the peephole was occluded. "Who is it?" called a voice. Almost certainly not the Kinsey guy, not unless he'd had a drastic operation. This was high-pitched, feminine. McAuley held up his shield so that the peephole had a good view of it. "Police," he called back. "Ma'am, I need you to open this door, immediately."_

_The door opened, on a chain. A pretty face, freckled, topped by red hair, showed itself at the gap. "What's going on? Can't a girl have some me time?"_

"_Ma'am, are you Andrea Campbell?"_

"_That's me," the girl agreed. "What's the matter?"_

"_Ms Campbell, we need to enter the premises."_

"_What for?" she asked._

"_We're searching for a Sergeant James Kinsey. Is he here?"_

"_I, uh, sure. He's here. What do you want him for?"_

"_We just need to see him, to verify that he's here," McAuley pressed._

"_Uh, can I just have a minute?"_

"_No, ma'am. Please open the door. Immediately."_

_The door closed briefly, then she opened it again. This time, McAuley got a good look at her, and his jaw slowly dropped. She wore an almost transparent robe over similarly minimal panties, and she wasn't too careful about how she held the robe together. He shaded his eyes. "Uh, ma'am, could you please put something more substantial on?"_

"_Jeez, make up your mind," she muttered. "I'll just go and -"_

_Fargo raised his voice. "Sergeant Kinsey! James Kinsey! Are you here?"_

_After a long moment, a deep voice was heard from the rear of the apartment. "Affirmative!"_

"_Would you please come out here, Sergeant?" called McAuley._

_Another long moment. " … why?"_

"_Oh, for god's sake," muttered Fargo. "Sergeant Kinsey, this is the police. We are coming in. Ma'am, step aside."_

_They stepped into the apartment; she tried to block their way in. "You don't want to see him, guys. He's perfectly okay."_

"_Ma'am, please step aside." Fargo ran interference so that McAuley could get past._

"_You really don't want to see him," she insisted._

"_We'll be the judge of that, ma'am." McAuley moved down the passageway, to an open door. "Kinsey?"_

"_No – don't -"_

_He pushed the door further open, and saw. Some part of him ticked off the checklist; six feet tall, muscular, broad shoulders, Caucasian. He also saw a great deal that he hadn't wanted to see. "Oh, god." Shading his eyes, he turned away from the doorway. "Sergeant Kinsey?"_

"_That's me."_

_The next question came out without checking with his forebrain on the way. "Why are you naked and handcuffed to the bed?"_

_Kinsey's answer was very dry. "Son, I'm going to assume that you don't get out much."_

-ooo-

I couldn't help myself; I burst out laughing. Gladys followed my lead, and Andrea was already giggling.

"You _weren't."_ Danny's expression was now matching Anne-Rose's. "Handcuffed to the bed, I mean."

"Darn tootin' he was," Andrea told him with satisfaction. "Trick cuffs, of course. But we had to use _something_ to hide the marks on his wrists."

"So what happened then?" That was Danny.

"Well, they got me to let him go, and he put some pants on, and I put on something a bit more substantial," related Andrea, eyes bright. "And then they asked us the kind of questions that they really didn't want to have to ask."

"But which you love answering," I supplied.

"Well, _yeah," _she agreed, readily enough. "The looks on their faces were _amazing."_

Kinsey coughed into his hand. "They had to ask her to stop going into detail."

Gladys shook her head. "I'm not sure if I wish I'd been here, or glad I wasn't. But it sounds funny as hell."

"Well, _I_ enjoyed the heck out of it," Andrea declared. "So does this make us superheroes now? Because we rescued Jim from a supervillain?"

I looked around at each of them. "Well, it makes you all heroes in _my_ eyes. I just want to say, thank you, for -"

There was a knock on the door. I looked at Andrea. "Are we expecting someone?"

"Uh, no," she replied. Getting up from under Kinsey's arm, she trotted over to the door, and peered through the peephole. "Huh. It's your boyfriend."

"Kimball? He's not my boyfriend." I sat up straight. "What the hell's he doing here? Now?"

"Dunno," Andrea told me, "but he's got one big-ass bunch of flowers."

"Okay, I've got to see this." Getting up, I headed over to the door. Peering through the peephole, I saw that she was correct; it was Humphrey, with a large bunch of flowers.

"Should I let him in?" Andrea grinned at me.

"Not _in_ in, but I should at least open the door, I guess," I decided. Suiting action to word, I undid the locks and let the door open a little way.

"Taylor," he greeted me. "Hi. I, uh, wanted to apologise."

"That's okay," I told him. "It was a tough call."

"And I wanted you to have these," he added, thrusting the flowers through the gap. This pushed the door open a little farther, and he saw the gathering. "Oh. You have friends over."

"Yeah, just people I know from when I grew up here," I told him. "Now that I'm back in town for a while, they're visiting."

"Right, right," he murmured, then his gaze sharpened. "Wait a minute. That guy, the tall skinny one with glasses. I know him from somewhere."

"That's Danny," I explained. "Turns out he was going to the movies that night too. Went in just as we came out. He was just telling me about it."

"Yeah, I remember him, hanging around the lobby, right. Huh. Small world."

"You're not wrong there," I agreed. I didn't dare look toward the sofa; any minute now, I expected him to spot Anne-Rose. Side by side we didn't look _totally_ alike, but Kimball still might twig. His 'body double' comment of the previous night had come a little too close for comfort.

"Well, anyway, I just thought I'd drop these off and say I'm sorry," he told me, returning his attention to me.

"They're beautiful," I responded, accepting the flowers. "Here, Andrea, hold these a moment?"

"Sure," Andrea agreed; I handed them off to her, and stepped forward, moving Kimball back a little way.

"I just wanted to say sorry for giving you mixed messages last night," I murmured, and kissed him. It was more than a peck on the lips, less than a full-on clinch. I only held it for a few seconds, but he looked a little dazed by the time I pulled away.

"Wow, okay, you can give me mixed messages any time," he mumbled; I smiled.

"So we're okay?"

"We're okay," he told me. He paused, and seemed to come to a decision. "Besides, I've been thinking."

"Thinking? That sounds ominous." My tone was amused.

"Yeah, thinking. What happened last night? Couldn't have happened to a bunch of nicer guys. So if you ever get it into your head to not do something like that again? However you did or didn't do it? Next time, just give me a heads-up, all right? Don't make me the patsy? Because right now, down at the station, my name's mud."

I blinked. "Humphrey -"

"No, let me finish. I don't know how you did it, which is good, 'cause that way I can't prove it, and I can't arrest you for it. Whoever did that hit Marquis hard, which can only be a good thing. If you did it, great. However the hell you pulled it off. But I just wanna say, if it was you, and if you're gonna do that shit again, get me in on it, instead of playing me like a damn violin."

"Well, not that I had anything to do with it," I pointed out, "but I'm fully intending for the rest of my stay here in Brockton Bay to be nice and quiet." I smiled. "But if I feel the need for company, I'll be sure to call on you."

"Yeah, okay." He nodded. "Yeah, that works."

Still smiling, I kissed him again, this time just a peck on the lips. "Thanks for the flowers."

"You're welcome. See you around?"

"See you around, Detective."

"See you around, Captain."

Turning, he strolled off down the corridor with a spring in his step. I watched him go, then let myself back into the apartment. Andrea was waiting for me, eyes bright; beyond her, I noticed that someone was missing. "Where's Anne-Rose?"

"Here," she replied, stepping out of the kitchen. "Has he gone?"

"He's gone," I confirmed.

"Good. I didn't want to come face to face with him. He might have figured it out."

"I think he did, except for where you come into it," I mused. "But I have an idea that he's decided that he's not going to try all that hard to solve it."

"Because you bribed him with a kiss," Andrea agreed cheerfully. "You know, you could have just gone back to his place last night. You'd both be a lot happier."

I rolled my eyes. "Seriously? My solution to everything does not revolve around sex."

"Why not?" she asked impudently. "Mine does."

No-one seemed inclined to argue with that; they knew her too well.

"So what are your plans for the next two weeks?" asked Gladys, seeking to change the subject.

"Believe it or not," I told her. "I want to take it easy. All I want is peace and quiet."

Andrea snorted. "Yeah, _that's_ gonna happen."

Taking the bunch of flowers back from her, I swatted her gently with them. "Shush, you."

If anything disturbed my peace and quiet over the next few weeks, I decided, I was going to _shoot_ it.

* * *

End of Part 4-11


	31. Chapter 31

\o/

* * *

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 5-0: Back in the Line of Fire

* * *

**Friday afternoon, April 22, 1994**

* * *

"Okay, pull over here."

Obediently, I pulled the hire car – repaired after the incident with Marquis – to the curb. We were in midtown, with buildings towering all around us. "I'm still not sure why you insisted on coming out without Kinsey, or how you managed to convince him to let me come."

Andrea grinned at me from the passenger seat. "Jim knows I'd never do anything to hurt you. And besides, he's been training me to defend myself. I'm your bodyguard, now." She struck a pose, looking adorably fierce.

"I see," I murmured. We both knew that I was still the more combat capable of the two of us, and in addition, I was carrying my Glock in a shoulder holster. Though I wouldn't have wanted to tangle with her in a straight fight; she fought _dirty._ "So why are we here, anyway?"

She pointed through the windshield at the tall building, still under construction, in the middle distance. "See that one?"

"Yeah." I frowned, trying to place it. "It's not one that I remember from my time. What is it?"

"Ours."

I slowly turned to look at her. "What?"

Her grin was reminiscent of a cat that has ingested a whole aviary full of canaries, just prior to discovering its own private lake of cream. "It's ours. I'm having it built. Top two floors are where I'll live – where _we'll_ live, after you come home for good – and the rest is for managing your financial empire, including the under-the-table stuff. Your mercenaries and stuff. There's even a private underground entrance. I'd give you a tour, but as you can see, they're still building it."

Shading my eyes, I peered out through the windshield again. The building wasn't the tallest around, but it was certainly taller than most. "That's … holy shit, how much is that _costing_ us?"

Andrea casually buffed her fingernails, then studied them. "All paid for in advance. Trust me, we are solvent as hell."

"Wow. Okay, I'm seriously impressed." Leaning across, I hugged her. "Thanks."

She hugged me in return, and threw in a kiss for good measure. I kissed her right back.

"Hey, it's fun," she told me when we disengaged. "Besides, the look on your face … "

I snorted at the look of glee on her face. "You enjoyed that far too much. So, this is what you wanted to show me?"

"Yup." She bounced in her seat. "What do you think?"

"I love it." Reaching across, I squeezed her hand. "I love _you._ Thanks, sweetie. You just made my day."

She leaned her head on my shoulder. "No. You just made _mine."_

* * *

We were on the way back to the apartment when a memory made me chuckle.

"Whassup?" asked Andrea, her head still on my shoulder.

"Remember the date I had with Kimball?"

She sat up to look at me. "The one to save Jim, or the one after that?"

"The one after that, where you and Kinsey came along."

Her grin told me that she remembered, all right. It had been by way of being an apology to Kimball; I had contacted him, and we had gone on a decorous date to the movies, chaperoned by both Kinsey and Andrea. "That was _fun."_

I rolled my eyes. "You _would_ throw popcorn."

She grinned mischievously. "You're the one who bought me the extra-sized tub."

I couldn't argue with that, but that wasn't the point I was trying to bring up. "Remember how we went for the stroll along the beach, after?"

"Yeah." She'd run through the surf, such as it was, again. "That was fun, too."

"Well, while we were walking, Kimball told me something interesting."

Andrea perked up. "He's quitting the police force and joining the PRT to be with you?"

I snorted. "No."

"Okay. He's got powers, and he'll be saving the city in his longjohns?"

The image I got of that was bizarre. "Uh, no."

"Uh, Alexandria's really him in drag -"

I cut her off. "No, please. No more weird guesses. He told me that the crime rate in the city has gone down a couple of percentage points over the last week or so."

"Hah!" She grinned at me. "And it's all because of you!"

"Well, _he_ thought he was joking." I rolled my eyes. "After the incident at Winslow, right?"

Andrea caught on to my point immediately, her eyes alight with interest. "He wasn't?"

"Well … " I tried to look innocent. "Turns out that, according to Lisa … yeah, that actually had something to do with it. Plus, the raid that Gladys and I did to rescue Kinsey kind of sparked rumours of an elite PRT hit-squad getting around town. So the gangs are playing it safe right now." I shrugged. "Who knew?"

* * *

Andrea was still giggling when we got back to the apartment block. "Oh, man," she told me as we got out of the car. "That's awesome. I can't wait to tell the guys."

"Yeah, we might want to keep that on the quiet side," I warned her. "They don't know about Lisa, remember?"

"It's still funny if we tell it from Humperdinck's point of view," she pointed out.

"Oh god, seriously?" I groaned. "His name's _Humphrey."_

Her grin was unrepentant. "But Humperdinck's funnier."

"If you keep using that name for him, I might slip and use it myself." I tried to sound severe.

She nodded, her grin getting wider. "I _so_ wanna see his face when you do."

I sighed. "Seriously. You're incorrigible."

Ducking in under my arm, she snuggled up to me. "Well, duh."

* * *

"So what are your plans for tonight?" she asked as we climbed the stairs.

"Well, I wasn't thinking of anything wild and crazy," I noted. "Just a quiet night in. Watch some TV, eat whatever meal Kinsey's prepared for us, snuggle on the sofa for a bit, then go to bed. Up early tomorrow. You know, the usual."

"What is it with you and Jim and getting up early?" she wanted to know. "Seriously, does being in the military make you all into masochists?"

"No." I paused, thinking about it. "It's the discipline. You end up with new habits."

"Yeah, well, you certainly aren't the same Taylor who went away back when this started," she agreed. "Still, I think I kinda like it. Except the getting up early thing. That's something I'm still getting used to." She paused at the door to her apartment and turned to grin at me.

"Well, it's something that's part of my life now," I began, as she opened the door and entered. I followed, blinking at the gloom. "Did we leave the lights off when we went out?" Instinctively, I reached under my coat for the Glock while groping for the light switch. _Kinsey, where are you?_

"SURPRISE!" The lights came on, just as the shout echoed through the living room and people jumped out from behind furniture. I jumped as well, curbing an impulse to pull the pistol anyway. Andrea was facing me, along with Danny, Anne-Rose, Gladys and Franklin; she was laughing out loud at the look on my face. Kinsey, his arms folded and his expression one of benevolent tolerance, was leaning on the archway leading through to the kitchen.

Slowly, I took my hand away from the pistol; just as slowly, I closed the door behind me. "Holy shit. You planned this? You planned a surprise party for me?"

"Well, _yeah," _Andrea agreed. "You were never gonna plan one for yourself. And the guys wanted to say goodbye."

"But I told you I didn't _want_ to have any sort of party," I objected.

"Yeah, you told me," she agreed, taking a party popper from Danny and aiming it at me. When she pulled the string, it emitted a sharp _crack_ and sprayed tiny streamers all over me. "But I ignored you. Because parties are _fun."_

I sighed, aggravated, and looked over toward my one potential ally in all of this. "Kinsey? What do you know about this?"

"Andrea might have spoken to me on the matter," he replied, deadpan. "I may have agreed to the idea."

"Aren't you supposed to keep me apprised on matters like this?" I looked around at the balloons, the streamers, the decorations. "Instead of _helping_ them?"

"I'm supposed to act in your best interests, ma'am," he corrected me. "I believe this fits the bill."

Danny came on over to me. "Come on, Taylor, lighten up a little," he urged me. "We just want to show how much we appreciate you. How much we're gonna miss you."

"That's right," agreed Anne-Rose. She hugged me, and kissed me on the cheek. I couldn't help but hug her back. "You've done so much for us." Her eyes slid sideways to Danny, and I read her meaning clearly.

"You guys've done a lot for me too," I protested. "I owe you." I was about to go on and remind them that Kinsey also owed them, but stopped myself when I recalled that Franklin hadn't been in on the Great Marquis Caper, as Andrea had irreverently dubbed it.

"So pay us back by enjoying the party," Gladys told me. "You know you want to."

Andrea took hold of my arm and clung to it. "Come _onnnn,"_ she urged me. "Party. Partypartyparty. Par-_tay."_

I sighed. "Okay, fine. Let's party. But no alcohol. I do _not_ need a hangover tomorrow."

"Yay!"

With Andrea still on my arm, as Danny and Franklin were setting up the dance music, I strolled through to the kitchen. Kinsey was just in the process of removing a batch of party pies from the oven. "Sergeant?"

He turned. "Ma'am?"

"We'll talk about this later."

His expression never shifted. "Ma'am."

I paused. "But for now … thank you."

A very slight nod. "Ma'am."

Andrea was tugging at my arm; I looked down at her. "What?"

"Gotta get you changed into party clothes. Come _on."_

I sighed; it looked as though my life was not my own. "Okay, coming."

"Wheee!"

-ooo-

* * *

**Saturday morning, April 23, 1994  
On Board the **_**Ad Astra Per Aspera**_

* * *

"_I suppose you're all wondering why you've been asked to be here today," Lisa announced. I restrained the urge to facepalm; it wasn't what a well-brought-up young lady in that world would do, and in any case everyone else seemed to be hanging on her words._

_'Everyone', in this case, was represented by the Captain, several burly stewards, and six passengers; the latter had, of their own accord, separated into two smaller groups. The well-appointed salon in which we were all assembled was quite large enough to hold everyone, despite the fact that we were on an aircraft. I still had trouble getting my head around that idea._

"_As you are no doubt aware," she went on, "one of the passengers on this craft, a Mr James Mulrooney, was murdered earlier."_

_As a bombshell, it didn't do much to disturb the passengers. There were a few murmured comments, and a couple of the people looked uncomfortable, but then, most people were uncomfortable with the idea of murder and death. I tried to look for anyone who __**didn't**__ look uncomfortable, but the predominating expression seemed to be a lack of expression._

"_Wait a moment," exclaimed one of the passengers, a heavy-set man with a red face and a mane of white hair; he was sitting with a woman who had to be half his age, if that. He was well-dressed, in suit and tie; if my memory of the passenger list held true, he was a well-to-do industrialist from Detroit, in what was apparently the Michigan Free State. "Are you accusing one of us of doing it? Damme, I won't stand for it!"_

"_Quite right, Mr Wilberforce," Lisa agreed gravely. "You'll __**sit**__ for it. Now, as I was saying, each of you is here because we haven't been able to specifically clear you from being in that corridor on or about the time that the murder took place."_

"_Cleared? __**Cleared?**__" Wilberforce rose to his feet. "I'll not stay here to be accused by some little chit -"_

**Sit. Down.** _My voice cracked across his. Involuntarily, his knees folded, and he sat. I nodded toward Lisa. __**You **_**will****_ sit, and you _****will****_ listen to my colleague, or we will presume you to be the murderer, attempting to escape justice._**

"_And you don't want any more attention paid to you, do you, Mr Wilberforce?" Lisa's voice was almost gentle. "Especially given that the young lady travelling with you is neither your wife nor your daughter, nor – as the passenger list states – your niece."_

_The young lady in question hid her face in her hands, and Wilberforce's own face paled dramatically. "I – no – no need to draw attention," he agreed hoarsely._

"_Then you'll cooperate with the investigation?" she asked sweetly._

"_I – yes – I'll cooperate."_

"_Good." Lisa's tone somehow managed to make it clear that she had considered this to be a foregone conclusion. And, I supposed, it had. "Mr Wilberforce, did you have any contact with the deceased?"_

_He shook his head. "We met once, briefly, in the corridor. I – we – stayed in our cabin, after that." His hand sought that of the woman beside him. "We had our meals delivered."_

I'll just bet you did,_ I told myself, but didn't allow the thought to show on my face._

"_So you didn't know about the murder?"_

"_No. The first we knew of it was when the steward knocked on our door to bring us here."_

_Lisa nodded. "Good. One more question. Is your drink of choice tea or coffee?"_

_He snorted, some of his fire coming back. "Coffee, of course. Tea's a filthy drink."_

"_Thank you, Mr Wilberforce. I might come back to you in a moment." Lisa turned to the other group in the salon, made up of four people. Three of them, from resemblances, were related, while the fourth almost definitely was not. I pegged the older gentleman – of an age with Wilberforce – to be the husband of the silver-haired lady, while the younger gentleman, about my age, was almost certainly their adult son. The fourth was a delicately beautiful young lady with dark skin; she wore plainer clothes than the other three, and stood behind their chairs as opposed to sitting with them._

_Lisa certainly wasn't missing any of the clues. "Sir Roderick Smythe-Browning the third, Earl of Bengal," she greeted the older man; her eyes sparkled. "Or should that be Your Excellency, Viceroy of Her Imperial Majesty's Indian Dominions, and advisor to the British Raj?"_

_Smythe-Browning's lips pursed slightly. "Not quite yet, young lady," he admitted in an upper-class British accent. It was matched by his clothing; equally as formal as that which Wilberforce was wearing, yet the style differed markedly; fashions were not the same in Britain and America, I presumed. "I was travelling with my wife and son in the Americas when the news reached us of my predecessor's demise; the appointment will be ratified once I am back in India." He paused. "May I ask how you learned this information? It was supposed to be a secret."_

"_Perhaps a secret to those who don't open their eyes," Lisa confided. "But don't worry; I won't be telling anyone else." She smiled slightly. "Now, then. Did you have any contact with the deceased?"_

"_A little," he replied, frowning. "He accosted me in the passageway, and we spoke a while. I found him to be good company; it was pleasant to be speaking to someone from the home country."_

"_What did you speak about?" Lisa asked; she didn't give much of an outward sign, but I could tell that she was very interested in the answer to the question._

"_Oh … nothing much," he responded. "Save that he was thinking of emigrating to India, and he wondered what the servant situation was like; how one went about engaging one, and so forth."_

"_And you told him how you took on your own servant, no doubt, as an illustration to your explanation?"_

"_Well, yes." He paused. "How did you know?"_

_Her smile widened slightly. "It seemed to follow logically. You haven't had her very long, have you?"_

_A prolonged blink greeted that statement. "My goodness, young lady. It is true that we only engaged Saleh after our previous servant was taken ill, just before our travels, but however did you know that?"_

_Lisa nodded toward the almost military jacket that he was wearing. "The creases aren't quite right yet, and if I had to guess, she still over-starches your collars. Thus, someone who hasn't quite learned all of your requirements."_

_He shook his head. "When you explain it, it seems so simple. Yes, she is still learning, but she's a good girl. Very conscientious."_

"_I'm sure she is. And tea is your drink of choice, no doubt?"_

"_Well, of course," agreed Smythe-Browning heartily. "It is the very beverage of civilisation."_

"_I cannot argue with that, sir." Lisa switched her gaze to the younger man. "Your name is Roderick also, is it not? Fourth of your line?"_

_To my eye, he was more than a little nervous, but he came to a species of attention, while sitting down. "Yes, ma'am. Lieutenant Roderick Smythe-Browning of the Bombay Horse Guards, fifth regiment, ma'am."_

"_At ease, Lieutenant," she murmured. "I merely need to ask you if you had any contact with the deceased."_

"_I didn't speak with him at all," he countered. "I saw him, of course, but I was helping Saleh move our baggage into the cabin."_

"_I see," Lisa replied. "Now, did you attend the dining room with your parents?"_

"_I did," he agreed. "Mother and Father decided to stroll about afterward; I came straight back to the cabin."_

"_Very well." Lisa looked at the girl standing behind them, and her tone changed. "Saleh, show me your left wrist, please."_

_The girl looked up, her eyes widening with fright. "My – my wrist?" Her accent was strong, though not impenetrable._

"_Your left wrist," Lisa insisted. "Now."_

"_What's this about?" asked Smythe-Browning, frowning heavily. "Saleh's a good girl. She couldn't have stabbed the man; doesn't have the strength for it, don't y'know."_

_His son was looking more nervous by the second; I could see it, and I was certain Lisa could also. I cleared my throat. __**Roderick, do you have something you'd like to tell us?**_

_Lisa flicked me an exasperated glance; I shot one back. __**What?**_

"_I, uh, yes," Roderick stammered. "I, uh, I tried to force myself on Saleh, after dinner. She has a bruise on her wrist from … well, from where I took hold of her." He turned to his father, who was staring at him in horror. "I'll resign my commission, of course."_

_I blinked. Okay, I hadn't expected __**that**__._

_"Yes. You will." Smythe-Browning's voice was hard. "No son of mine -"_

_"Oh, he'll be resigning his commission, all right," Lisa interrupted, "but that won't be the reason. Will it, Roderick?"_

_The lieutenant stared back at her, obviously not wanting to answer. At this point, the Captain broke in. "Lady Wilbourn, ma'am, I believe that I quite fail to see where you're going with this. Would you care to elucidate?"_

_She beamed at him. "I thought you would never ask. You see, the murdered man was actually an agent of the British Imperium."_

_That jolted him, I saw. Wilberforce and his lady friend were similarly shocked, although less so. Where it hit hardest was the Smythe-Brownings; Saleh closed her eyes tightly for a moment, while Roderick went so pale that he seemed about to faint._

_"A secret agent? Are you certain?"_

_Smythe-Browning senior asked the question, his voice nowhere near as certain as it had before._

_"Oh, I'm sure," Lisa told him. "He had a false tooth with poison in it, and we located a coded message on his person." I wasn't quite sure who she was looking at – I was looking at __**them**__ – but she went on sweetly, "In case you're wondering, it was in his boot."_

_Lady Smythe-Browning spoke up for the first time. "Was he … was he poisoned by his own tooth?"_

_"That __**would**__ simplify matters, wouldn't it?" Lisa shook her head. "No, as I see it, he was assigned to travel on this flight in order to investigate one particular person. That person is described in the coded message."_

_"Have you – have you decoded it?" asked Roderick, his voice shaking._

_"No, but I don't have to." Lisa's voice was firm. "Your old servant, what happened to him? He fell ill, correct? It was very sudden and unexpected?"_

_"I – yes," Roderick answered. "Why?"_

_"Because as I understand it, there is an underground movement in the Dominions that calls themselves Free India. They've blown up buildings and assassinated government officials. Am I correct so far?"_

_Smythe-Browning the elder stirred himself to answer. "Uh, yes. For the most part. They're a rabble - "_

_" - a rabble with plans, it seems," Lisa put in. "Five will get you ten that your old servant's illness was arranged, so that Saleh could travel with you, and be well entrenched by the time that you returned to India."_

_"But … why?" asked Smythe-Browning, bewildered._

_"Because it was common knowledge that the old Viceroy was on his last legs, and astute political observers could see who was next up on the ticket," Lisa pointed out. "If you got a new servant __**after**__ becoming Viceroy, the background checks would have been a lot more stringent, you see. As it is, you had a spy right in your camp. Isn't that right, Saleh?"_

_The young woman was pressed up against the wall, her eyes wide. "No -" she gasped. "No, it's not true!"_

_I was almost fooled, but I reminded myself that Lisa usually knew what she was talking about._

_Smythe-Browning was less confident. "You'd better have more than idle speculation to back that up, my girl."_

_"The bruising on her wrist," Lisa pointed out. "You ate in the dining room; Saleh, as according to her station, ate in the cabin. Mulrooney, wanting to make sure, dropped by. She served him tea. He was a little clumsy in probing for information; she panicked and slipped poison to him."_

_"Wait, wait," broke in Wilberforce. "Where would she get poison from, anyway?"_

_"They carry it," Smythe-Browning informed him grimly. "For assassination and suicide. Free India does both." He looked at Lisa. "Go on."_

_"It made him drowsy, but while she was trying to search him for the coded message, he roused himself. They struggled, which was where she got the bruise on her wrist – you're still favouring that wrist, by the way – and he made for his cabin, where he no doubt carries the antidote to that poison. Roderick came in, saw Saleh in her condition, and went after Mulrooney. They struggled, Roderick pulled a knife -"_

_"You're wrong," Roderick told her tonelessly. "It wasn't my knife. It was his. He pulled it on me. We struggled for it. He weakened suddenly, and went on to the blade. I never meant to kill him."_

_"Huh. Yeah, I can see that," Lisa admitted. "The one thing I'm still unsure about is whether you were just a fool in love, or if you actually intended to commit treason with her."_

_He ran his hand through his hair. "I'm a fool either way. No, I never knew what she intended. I knew who and what she was, of course -"_

_"You don't know half of what I am, you great English swine," Saleh broke in, almost all accent gone from her voice. "I was never going to run away with you. Your words of sympathy for the plight of India are too little, too late."_

_He rose from his chair. "Saleh – I love you – we were in love – weren't we?" If the break in his voice were an act, I'd never heard better._

_"You were amusing. And useful." Hers was cold. An act also? I couldn't tell. "But love? There could never be love between us. Not for who I am, and who you are." A steward moved toward her; she backed away. Pulling her sleeve up – I saw for the first time the blotched bruises that Lisa had intuited to be on her wrist – she produced a small wicked-looking firearm. "Stay back."_

_Everyone stepped back under the threat of the tiny pistol; the Captain frowned. "Firearms? On my aircraft? How did you smuggle it in?"_

_"I didn't," she stated with satisfaction. "His Excellency here did."_

_"Is this true?" the Captain asked._

_"It was in a locked case!" protested Smythe-Browning._

_"Locks can be picked – no, stay back," she reminded one of the stewards, who had been sidling forward._

_"There's only one way this can end," Lisa told her. "You can't kill everyone here. That pistol literally doesn't have enough bullets."_

_"It doesn't have to," Saleh told her bitterly. "I will not go to the gallows." From a pocket she produced a tiny vial. "Here is my end."_

_"But you used that to poison Mulrooney," protested the Captain._

_"We always carry two doses. For our target, and for ourselves, just in case." Saleh popped the top off of the vial, and downed the contents. Dropping the vial, she sat down suddenly, her gun arm wavering; it seemed to be a fast-acting poison._

_"What are you going to do now? Shoot me?" Smythe-Browning's voice was bitter._

_"I don't have to." She coughed. "God, that stuff's terrible. Once this gets out, you'll never be Viceroy." The pistol drooped, then slid from her fingers. "Free … free India … "_

_As the others closed in on her, Lisa took my arm. "We're done here, I think," she murmured._

_**Yeah,**__ I agreed. __**I think so too.**_

* * *

_We strolled along the viewing gallery, with the ground sliding by, far beneath. __**So what happens now?**__ I asked._

"_We get congratulated by the Captain for cracking the case, I imagine," Lisa replied. "We ride the rest of the way in luxury." She patted the back of a chair. "I could get used to travelling like this."_

_I snorted. __**I just bet. So, did you enjoy being the star of a murder mystery?"**_

_Her vulpine grin lit up the gallery. "I've always wanted to do that."_

_**And was it as good as you thought it might be?**_

"_Hell yeah."_

_**Sorry for almost screwing it up with Roderick, there.**_

_She shrugged. "It's okay. I should've given you more warning."_

_**Well, I -**__ I lurched, caught a seat. __**What was that?**_

"_I think that was you coming out of the trance."_

_**Ah.**__ I nodded. __**Makes sense. Well, this time was fun. See you next time.**_

"_See you then. Kiss before you go?"_

_I kissed her; her lips tasted of dust and blood. My eyes closed -_

-ooo-

\- then opened again; the taste faded into that of Andrea's strawberry lip gloss.

"Mmmm_wah!"_ She broke the kiss with a loud smacking sound, then sat back, looking rather pleased with herself.

"So," I asked her as I sat up properly, "was that _really_ necessary? To make such a noisy production of that?"

She grinned at me. "Sure. Jim's still out there in the living room, cleaning up from last night. We've gotta make _some_ sorta noise, otherwise he might wonder what we're up to. And if he thinks we're making out … "

"Then he'll specifically not come looking. Got it." I eyed her suspiciously. "You _do_ know that he's already seen us kiss before, right?"

"No sense in taking chances," she pointed out cheerfully. "In fact … " She got off her chair and climbed on to my lap. "The closer the better, I'd say. Just in case he peeks."

I snorted. "Kinsey doesn't 'peek'. We're safe from that, at least."

"Though I can't help noticing that you're not actually protesting."

"That depends," I retorted, my arms firmly around her, "on your definition of 'protest'." Putting my head on her shoulder, I held her tightly; she returned the favour. Her lips found mine; I didn't put up much of a struggle. Or any kind of struggle, to be honest.

When we came up for air, she giggled. "Whew! I kinda like how you protest!"

"Yeah, well," I murmured, snuggling into her, "you know I have a hard time telling you no."

"Except in bed," she retorted. "We've been together _how_ many years, and I've still got to trick you into sex?"

I evaded the question. "We're not officially together any more, remember? Not allowed to be gay in the military."

"Pfft." She wrinkled her nose. "You were never gay. You're just … fun to seduce."

I sighed. "Rules are rules are rules. I have to abide by them, or at least appear to abide by them, if I want to stay in the PRT. So … officially, we're just friends. Really, really good friends, but just friends all the same. Okay?"

"Okay." Her eyes sparkled with mischief. "Just remember. They're not _my_ rules."

I tried to imagine Andrea in the PRT, and my brain locked up for a few seconds. "Yeah, I got it," I agreed. "That being so, I don't seem to recall you ever following _any_ rules you didn't approve of."

She giggled and rubbed her cheek against mine. "Darn _tootin'."_

"So anyway, I seem to have written down what you need," I told her, unfolding one arm long enough to tap the piece of paper on the desk. "Hope it's all there."

"It is," she replied. "I checked with Lisa while you were writing it."

"That's still weird for me." I eyed her askance. "What _do_ you two talk about?"

"You, mostly," Andrea told me. "You get wound too tight occasionally. I can't be there all the time. She worries about you." Her tone, for once, was serious. "_I_ worry about you."

I held her close. "I'll get the job done. I have to. Just seven more years, and I'm out. We can be together."

"Yeah, but then you'll _still_ be trying to save the world, but with the PRT watching your every move, depending on how noisy you make your exit."

Once more, I was reminded that there was a brain under that ditzy exterior. "I'll deal with that when the time comes. And I _will_ need to be a little bit infamous, just for a while."

She sighed. "Doesn't mean I like the plan."

I nodded, rubbing my cheek against hers. "Unfortunately, the choice wasn't between 'good plan' and 'bad plan'. It was between 'plan that will work' and 'a dozen plans that won't'."

"Even the plan that works is gonna suck," she pointed out.

"Well, true," I admitted. "Which reminds me. The stuff from Synth?"

"Right here." Without moving from my lap, she pulled open a desk drawer and extracted a vacuum-sealed packet. "It's in here. He says he made sachets out of it. They'll dissolve in water." She held on to it for a moment. "Do I want to know … ?"

Gently, I shook my head. "_I_ don't want to think about what I'll be doing with it. But it's gotta be done."

She placed it in my hand, then wrapped her arm back around me. "So it's gonna be bad."

"Yeah."

"Worse than New York?"

Closing my eyes, I leaned into her. "Different kind of bad."

"Oh." Silence, as she digested that. "Well, I'll support you no matter what. You know that."

I held her tightly. "Andrea, I … every time you say that, you blow my mind. All over again."

Her voice was muffled as she burrowed into the curve of my neck. "Yeah, well, I love you, and you're trying to save the world, and it's kinda where I keep my stuff, you know?"

"Yeah." There were no more words to be said. "Yeah. I get it."

We sat for a long time, just holding each other. _Enjoy this,_ I told myself. _Because it's going to be a long while before you get comfort like this again._

-ooo-

Kinsey opened the trunk of the hire car and began loading our luggage in. I held hands with Andrea as we watched the play of muscles under his shirt.

"I still think you should … " she murmured mischievously.

"Nope," I replied, equally quietly. "Off limits. You know that."

She changed tack. "Sure you don't want to fly back? You could stay an extra day."

"Certain. The flight to Newfoundland and back was bad enough."

"Oh, _I _had no problem with that." She grinned up at me.

I rolled my eyes. "Watch it, or I'll leave the TV remote on a high shelf."

Grinning, she stuck her tongue out at me. I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. She leaned into me companionably.

"I hope you're feeling better," she ventured.

"I am," I told her. "Really. More relaxed." Quite a bit of that due to her, and quite a bit due to … well, being _able_ to relax, I decided. Being able to stroll along the Boardwalk, to watch TV, to not have to_worry_ about anything.

"Good," declared Andrea, oblivious to my thoughts. "The going-away party was fun."

I sighed. "You do recall me saying I didn't _want_ a going-away party, right?"

"Sure," she agreed blithely. "But you enjoyed it anyway, yeah?"

My smile was just a little rueful. "Yeah. I did. Thanks."

Beside us, Kinsey cleared his throat. "Ma'am, we're ready to go."

"With you in a moment, Kinsey." I looked down at Andrea. "Take care of yourself."

"_You_ take care of yourself, you big dummy," Andrea retorted. There was a suspicious catch to her voice, and tears stood bright in her eyes. My eyes weren't too clear at the moment, either. She pulled me down, and we shared a kiss. It ended all too soon, and I hugged her one more time.

Climbing into the car, I fastened my seatbelt then buzzed the window down. She leaned in, and we clasped hands while she kissed me again, a quick peck on the lips. And then she stood back; I squeezed her hand, then let her go.

"Okay, Kinsey," I told the Sergeant, my voice not altogether steady. "Let's go."

He put the car into gear and pulled away from the curb. I turned my head and watched Andrea's petite form until she was quite out of sight.

"Tissues in the glove compartment, ma'am."

"Thank you, Kinsey." I located them, and wiped my eyes before blowing my nose. "All this pollen in the air."

"Of course, ma'am."

Turning my head, I looked at him; strong and dependable. Supportive, even. "Thank you, Kinsey."

He read the difference of tone correctly. "You're welcome, ma'am."

Not another word was spoken until Brockton Bay was well behind us.

-ooo-

* * *

**Monday morning, April 25, 1994  
PRT Chicago**

* * *

The nameplate on the door read:

LT COL HAMILTON  
INTELLIGENCE

I fancied that I could see the fresher paintwork where the rank had been altered. Raising my hand, I knocked firmly on the door.

A voice from within, familiar to my ears, called out, "Enter!"

Opening the door, I stepped into the office. Despite an abiding sensation of unfamiliarity, everything seemed the same as it had been when I left, including Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton himself, seated behind the desk. _Everything else is the same. It must be me that's changed._ Or rather, I knew that it was. I was not the same person who had walked out of that office, four weeks previously.

Coming to attention, I saluted crisply. "Captain Snow reporting for duty, sir."

He returned the salute. "At ease, Snow. Close the door and have a seat."

I did as I was told, pushing the door shut, then pulling out a chair to sit down.

Hamilton peered at me over his glasses. "So, Captain Snow. Welcome back. How was Brockton Bay?"

"Interesting, sir. I caught up with old friends. Went camping. Enjoyed myself. There were the, uh, incidents, of course … "

He smiled disarmingly. "I've already read your reports on those incidents, and those of Sergeant Kinsey. Very interesting reading, Captain."

I didn't dare ask him what he meant. _Did Kinsey let something slip in one of his reports?_ I doubted it; I trusted the man utterly. "But yes, on the whole, it was a relaxing experience."

"Good, good." His gaze was steady on mine. "So how do you personally feel?"

"Better, sir." I essayed a confident expression. "I've managed to come to terms with what happened in New York."

"Good." He clasped his hands in front of him. "How about what happened in Batavia, and in Brockton Bay?"

"It's all in the reports -"

He waved me to silence. "As I said, I've read the reports. I need to know your feelings on the matter. Do you think you acted hastily, due to mental trauma, or do you think you were acting logically and correctly even then?"

"Well, sir, I've been over both those incidents since they happened, and I don't think I would act differently even now. Do I regret killing that one guy? Not really. I regret that he had to die, but he failed to obey a directive, and was acting as a clear and present threat to my well-being. I'm still alive, and I'm fine with that."

"And his partner?" Hamilton's voice was quiet. "Had you more time to think about it, would you have killed him also?"

"Actually, sir, if I'd had more time to act, I would have disabled both of them." I paused, thinking about it. "If I'd had _less_ time, I probably would have had to kill them both. But I used up all my restraint on the first one. I had the second one cold; he should have called it quits. He didn't."

Hamilton was nodding slowly. "Captain Snow, one thing I have noticed about your fitness reports is that when the time comes for you to take action, you never dither, never prevaricate. You appear to be very good at sizing up a situation at a glance, and deciding what action needs to be taken. And when the time comes to escalate, you escalate very hard indeed."

"I don't believe in hanging back and letting the other guy get the initiative, sir," I pointed out.

He smiled again. "No, Captain, I don't believe that you do. I notice that in the Winslow incident, you didn't kill anyone, although you probably could have."

"This is true, sir. However, I felt that it would be easier to work the situation out without bloodshed."

"You could have instead rid Brockton Bay of a dangerous parahuman crime lord," he argued. "Why didn't you?"

I paused; he wasn't arguing because of what _he_ felt; he wanted to know why _I _had done it that way. "Because he was the only one holding them in check." My voice was calm. "If I had killed him, they would very likely have shot me, and then perhaps members of the crowd. Getting him – and them – out of there seemed the best option."

"You were very sure that you were safe from him."

"I've studied him, sir. Just like I've studied the other parahuman gangs in Brockton Bay. Marquis' particular dislike for harming women isn't well known, but if you know what you're looking at, it's relatively easy to spot."

He nodded equably. "Well, I wasn't there, Captain, but your results speak for themselves. Nobody was harmed, and Marquis left peacefully."

"Thank you, sir." I didn't dare relax; the other shoe, I felt, was on the verge of dropping.

"Which leaves the other problem." His gaze sharpened. "Taking it upon yourself to redefine PRT policy, to a supervillain, in the middle of a confrontation."

I met his eyes. "Sir, I considered it a hostage situation. I was _negotiating._ And if I were to get his attention, then I had to be unequivocal. To the point. Give him a good reason for my behaviour."

"By telling him something that wasn't true." His voice was challenging.

"Hostage negotiators do that all the time, sir. In addition, it kept the civilians calm; I was _specifically_ extending the protection of the PRT over them. Also, it worked." I took a deep breath. "And if what I said was so far off the line, why has the PRT not issued a statement correcting what I said?"

Leaning back in his chair, he smiled; abruptly, the tension in the room receded. "Because it wasn't all that far off the line, Snow. Well done."

I blinked. "What? Uh, I mean, I beg your pardon, sir?"

Taking off his glasses, he began to polish them. "The powers that be were all in a tizzy, Snow, when your TV piece first hit the air. I got hints that some people wanted to bust you down to private, or cashier you altogether."

I blinked. "Oh. I see."

"Quite. But wiser heads prevailed; after all, what you did _worked._ Also, your description of PRT policy, while not being a verbatim representation of what we actually do, garnered us some public support. So the cries for your head on a platter faded away after a while."

"Uh, sir, you do know that someone tried to have me poached me for DC -"

He nodded. "Yes, I'm aware of that. That someone jumped the gun, and has now been transferred away from the Washington office." Fitting his glasses on to his face once more, he met my gaze squarely. "Of course, had his little ploy _worked,_ we wouldn't be having this conversation. I would instead be having a much more stringent one with Sergeant Kinsey."

"About Kinsey, sir. He was just following my orders -"

A gently raised hand cut off my words. "I do understand that, Captain. You saw what needed to be done, and you acted without hesitation. I have no doubt that had the good Sergeant confronted those men, he may well have been hurt or killed, along with a great many others. Whereas you, a woman, were able to defuse the situation and cause Marquis to leave."

Finally, I began to relax, if only a little. "Actually, sir, while we're talking about Kinsey. Quite apart from my report, I'd like to make a note right now that his conduct was exemplary the whole time we were in Brockton Bay. He also backed me up exactly right during the Batavia incident."

"Which was his _job,_ Captain Snow." Hamilton's tone was gently chiding, but then his eyes creased in an almost-smile. "But I will accept your verbal report. Interestingly enough, his written report included almost exactly the same statement about you."

"Thank you, sir." A hidden knot of tension, one I hadn't even known I had, loosened itself in my midsection. _Oh, wow. He came through. I should never have doubted him, not for an instant._

"I will state that I am pleased to see you back, Captain," he told me warmly. "The office has suffered a little from the lack of your particular analytical capability. Once you're cleared by the doctor, I'm afraid that you will be neck-deep in it once more."

He rose from his chair; I took the hint to do the same. "I'm ready for it, sir. Honestly, those four weeks did me the world of good."

"I can see that, Snow. When you left, you were twitchy, uncertain, questioning everything. Now … now, you seem much more centred. Sure of yourself."

"It's good to be back, sir."

The twinkle in his eye informed me that he saw through my lie, but chose to accept it at face value anyway. "It's good to have you back, Snow. Dismissed."

I came to attention, then turned and left the office.

_Well, that went more easily than I thought it would._

I had no doubt that it would not always be that way.

-ooo-

* * *

**Friday, May 6, 1994**

* * *

My desk phone rang; I picked it up and tucked it in between my shoulder and ear as I continued typing. "Captain Snow speaking."

"_Hello, Captain Snow. It's been a while."_

I paused. "Wait … Calvert? Lieutenant Calvert?"

"_The very same. I was wondering if you would recall your old friends."_

"Lieutenant, we were never friends. Acquaintances, yes. Brief acquaintances, at that."

"_Now, Captain Snow, is that any way to talk to someone who did you such a service?"_

"Service? What service is that?" But I already knew what he was going to say.

"_Why, your promotion, of course. Didn't I let you know that I was going to be fast-tracking it?"_

I resisted the urge to make a rude noise. Calvert had had no part in my promotion. The man was nothing but a grubbing opportunist. But still, I didn't want to drive him away altogether … "That was _you?"_

"_I promised and you received. Did I not say so?"_

"You did, yes." I pretended reluctance. "So yes, I'm a Captain now, thanks to you. I have to warn you, I don't have much in the way of pull right now, so I can't help you with much."

"_Oh, don't worry. Any favours can wait. I just wanted to touch base, make sure you remembered who your friends are."_

"Trust me," I told him truthfully, "I'm not likely to forget you." _Or forgive you, but that's another matter._

"_Good. Well, I'll be in touch."_

"I look forward to it." I put the phone down, then got up and went to wash my hands.

Calvert was to play a part in my future plans, so I had to be nice to him. But I didn't have to like it.

-ooo-

* * *

**Tuesday, May 17, 1994**

* * *

Again, I stood before Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton's desk. This time, he did not invite me to sit. Nor was there a smile on his face. "Captain Snow."

I stood rigidly at attention. "Sir."

"I have here a complaint – a _written_ complaint – from Captain Gordon."

"Sir?" I knew what the complaint was about, of course.

"In it, he alleges that you assaulted him. That you attempted to strike him."

_Whoa._ I hadn't known _that_ part. "Sir, that allegation is false."

"Snow, he claims witnesses." His voice was hard.

"Sir, those witnesses are lying or misled." My gaze had not shifted from a point on the wall behind his head. "Before I joined the PRT, I was already good at hand to hand fighting. Since then, I have received regular training from Sergeant Kinsey. You know how good _he_ is. Captain Gordon is barely adequate when it comes to physical confrontation. If I had seriously attempted to harm him in any way, then he would not be _walking_ right now."

"Hmm." Behind his glasses, his eyes creased; not in humour, but in thought. "Your point is extremely valid, Captain Snow. I presume that there was a clash of some sort between yourself and Captain Gordon?"

"Yes, sir, there was." I opened my mouth to say more, then shut it again.

"I notice that you did not report it."

"Sir, I didn't consider the matter to be worth reporting."

"Apparently, Captain Gordon doesn't see things the same way. Which means that I need to hear your side of things before this goes any farther."

"I can write a report, sir -"

"No need." He reached into a drawer and placed a tape recorder on the desk. "I'll take it verbally, Snow. I need to get to the bottom of this before it causes any more problems among my staff. That is, if you have no objections to being recorded?"

"None whatsoever, sir."

"Good." A _click_ as he depressed the Record and Play buttons at the same time. "Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton, receiving Captain Snow's verbal report on the incident of Monday, May sixteenth, at the Chicago PRT base. Captain Snow, proceed."

I took a deep breath.

-ooo-

* * *

**The Day Before**

* * *

"Who's been at my desk?"

Nobody seemed to hear my question. I raised my voice slightly. "Has anyone been at my desk?"

A few people leaned out of their cubicles, but nobody spoke up. I pounced, before they could withdraw again. "Leroy. Have you seen anyone at my desk?"

Put on the spot, Leroy – Lieutenant Donelly – stepped out of his cubicle and approached me. "No, Captain. I haven't seen anyone."

"Do you have any idea who might've been at my desk?" I asked him directly. "I was working on something over the weekend, and now it's all out of order. Also, someone's tried to access my computer."

He blinked. "Your computer, ma'am?"

"Yes, Leroy, my computer." I gave him a hard stare. "That big blocky thing on my desk. Do you have any idea who might have tried to get into it?"

"Uh, no, ma'am," he replied; despite the fact that he was five years older than me, he was sweating. "I don't even have any idea of how to do something like that."

"Not many of us do." The voice came from behind me. I turned my head, even though I knew who it was. "Leroy, you're dismissed. Get back to what you were doing."

"Sir." Relieved, Donelly scuttled away. I turned all the way to face the newcomer. Captain Robert Gordon, ten years my senior, and general pain in the ass.

"I was still talking to him, Gordon."

He curled his lip. "He had nothing to do with your _computer_, and you know it." He managed to give the word a pitch and spin of its own. "In fact, most of us are still wondering why you're the only one in the department who rates a stand-alone terminal, let alone one of that power, with an encrypted server link to boot."

"Because I needed it, and the Lieutenant-Colonel authorised it." _Plus, I can use it better than you ever will. _My tone was flat, but I looked him right in the eye. He didn't like that for several reasons, starting with the fact that I had achieved the rank of Captain at an unreasonably young age, continuing on with the fact that I was fractionally taller than him despite being younger and a woman, and concluding with the fact that despite being younger and a woman, and being more recently promoted than him, I never deferred to his age, experience or seniority.

"If you were supposed to have a terminal with that capability, Snow, we would all have been issued one. I'm still wondering what you did to get one issued to you, personally." He paused. "Or _who_ you did."

Of course, that was the _other_ set of reasons that he disliked me. He was bigger, stronger and had seniority in rank, but I was better at pistol shooting and hand-to-hand than he was, plus I was _the _resident computer expert, and everyone knew it.

The fact that I had used my analytical skills to 'predict' Behemoth's latest rampage was not known to the department at large, so Gordon was probably unaware of it when he went on his 'favouritism' kick. But his last comment was new; I had been about to turn away, my objective accomplished, when it registered on me.

I turned back. _"What_ did you say?"

His lips tightened in a smile. "You heard."

"No. I don't think I did. Did you just accuse me of sleeping with my superior officer in order to have a high-end computer issued to me? Is _that_ what you just said?"

"Well, I -"

"_No."_ I stepped forward, getting in his face. "No. You do _not_ get to say shit like that. Not about Lieutenant-Colonel Hamilton. Not now, and not ever. He's a good man and a good officer, and he doesn't deserve to have that sort of shit whispered behind his back."

He was taken aback, but recovered quickly. "Well, what are you gonna do about it?" His tone was mocking. "Go and whine to the old man? Make a Federal case over it? If it comes out, you know that it'll be up to him to prove that it isn't happening. And even if he does, it'll end his career."

I paused. He was right. Even if it went to a judicial hearing and we were exonerated of all charges, the doubt would always be there; some mud would always stick. The whispers would continue.

In addition, I did _not_ need this sort of attention, not at this point in time.

My eyes slitted behind my glasses, and I looked him up and down with contempt. "That's just like you, Gordon. You'd hurt an innocent man just because you can't get your own way." A moment later, I regretted the words, but they'd been said. Despite the anger building in me, I turned to walk away. _I need to distance myself from the situation._

"Hey, don't you turn your back on me!" He grabbed my shoulder; turning fast, I took hold of his wrist and twisted it just so. His eyes widened; with a strangled grunt of pain, he went to his knees, staring up at me.

"Don't ever touch me again," I growled; releasing his wrist, I stalked back into my cubicle.

-ooo-

* * *

**In Hamilton's Office**

* * *

"So you didn't actually punch him."

"Well, I struck his arm with the side of my wrist, yes, but no, I did not punch him. If I had, sir, he would be showing marks."

"And you would be up on charges for the same."

I nodded. "That's correct, sir."

"As it is, _he_ was guilty of assaulting _you."_

"The trouble is proving it, sir. If he has all these witnesses lined up to say I hit him, then they're going to deny that he grabbed my shoulder first. I shouldn't have said what I said. I was angry; he had provoked me. But I do not offer that as an excuse for my actions."

"You were defending my reputation." His tone of voice did not indicate which way he felt about that.

"I regret that it needed defending, sir, and I don't know that I helped at all."

"Well, now at least this particular vile slander is out in the open, where it can be met and countered." His lips thinned. "I notice that Captain Gordon did not include any mention of it in his complaint."

"I'm not surprised, sir." I paused. "Permission to speak freely about a fellow officer, sir?"

"Granted."

"Captain Gordon is … charismatic, sir. Friendly, open, gathers people to him. He's good at using them, turning them to his side. But if he perceives someone as a threat, he acts against them, spreads lies and whispers. He's a good _analyst,_ sir, don't get me wrong. It's just that he's also good at politics. And as a human being he's a dick."

Hamilton stifled a snort. "Very … candid, Snow. A good analysis. Unfortunately, this leaves me between a rock and a hard place. As you say, Captain Gordon is a good analyst. I'd hate to lose him. If I did transfer him away, it could cause problems among those of my staff whom he's influenced." He looked at me soberly. "Whereas you're my best analyst, bar none."

"I have a potential solution, sir," I told him.

"You have my attention, Captain Snow."

I took a deep breath. "Put me on administrative punishment. Send me out into the field, or transfer me to other bases, temporarily. Make it known that you're trying to deal with my 'attitude problems'."

He rubbed his chin. "This won't cause problems in your work?"

"No, sir. I need to get out there and gather data anyway. Plus, this gives people less chance to mess with my workspace."

"You mentioned that." He frowned. "Is it serious? Do you think they're trying to sabotage your work?"

I hesitated. "I think it was more someone trying to see what I was doing. Breaking my computer would be easy; breaking _into_ it, past the passwords I've put in there, is a whole lot harder. But I've found attempts to do just that. And I _don't_ want anyone figuring out what I'm looking into until my data's a lot harder."

"So what _are_ you looking into, Snow?" he asked quietly. "The Instigator?"

"No, I've got that one on hold for the moment, sir." I paused, then lowered my voice to match his. "I think I've got a line on where the Behemoth came from. What caused it to emerge. I might be able to figure out how to make it go away."

"Good _god,_ Snow." His voice was intense, fierce. "Are you certain?"

"Nothing's certain where this sort of thing is concerned, sir," I reminded him. "But … I'm hopeful."

"Do you know anything at all?"

"Well, sir, I can give you a ninety-six percent chance that it'll be well outside the continental US, the next time it attacks. And I'd put it between October and November for the next attack. Apart from that … all I have is fluff and vapour. Hunches. I want to put numbers to them before I do anything else."

He frowned. "Director Costa-Brown still wants you in DC for that think-tank. Would you be able to work better with them?"

"Sir, no, sir." I shook my head. "I don't think I'd work well with other people. As you know, my thought processes sometimes don't line up with standard logic. And I don't need people second-guessing me, or worse, telling me that I'm on the wrong track."

"Hm." He paused. "Getting back to whoever is interfering with your workspace, do you think it's someone in the office, or someone from outside?"

"That's the thing, sir." For the first time, I lowered my eyes to meet his. "I'm strongly inclined to think that it might actually be an infiltrator from outside. Or a mole, here in the base. Not all that many people know about the role I played regarding New York -"

"Damn few, which is a crying shame," he interjected. "But go on, Snow."

"Thank you, sir. But what I was about to say is that some people outside the PRT _do_ know. It's a statistical certainty. And some of those people might not be friendly to our cause. They might want to know what I'm working at next, in order to see if I'm a threat or not."

"Which means that _you're_ under threat," he concluded. "I can increase security -"

"Whoever it is, they're getting through our security now without even a whisper," I pointed out. "If I'm out and about, Kinsey and I can keep an eye on our perimeter much more easily. Anyone who's trying to find out what I'm doing will have to play catch-up. And if it's a mole inside the base, that person's stuck here while I go on my way."

He grimaced. "I don't like the idea, Snow. I really don't. You're our best asset, and to go out into the field -"

"I can check in with other PRT bases, sir," I pointed out. "They can't _all_ be infiltrated."

"Hm." He adjusted his glasses. "You _did_ write the book on security protocols. Very well, Captain Snow. I'll have your orders cut accordingly."

"Thank you, sir."

He shook his head. "Don't thank me yet, Snow. Just stay safe, and let me know the instant you've got something."

"That's a guarantee, sir."

"Dismissed."

As I left his office, I composed my features into a simmering resentment; it had to look like a punishment, after all. Inside, I merely felt vast regret. Not at the so-called 'punishment', but for what I was planning to do in the near future.

_I don't want to do this. But I don't really have a choice._

* * *

End of Part 5-0


	32. Chapter 32

\o/

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 5-1: The Conflict Inherent in the System

* * *

**Monday, May 23, 1994**

* * *

"So I hear you're running away, Snow. Or should that be _melting _away?"

I turned, case in hand, to take in the speaker. It was Gordon, of course. When I had first met him, he had been open and friendly. I hadn't joined the PRT to socialise, but he was reasonably good-looking and well-spoken, so I had allowed myself to relax from time to time in his company.

Now I couldn't imagine doing such a thing. Since I had returned from my Brockton Bay leave, he had gone from helpful to moderately annoying to subtly hostile. I still had no idea what was behind the change, but I was glad I was leaving. This sort of pressure, I did not need.

"Captain Gordon." I kept my voice level, my tone distant but polite. "Did you need something?"

"No, nothing." I wasn't fooled by the casual tone; the hidden venom in the previous comment had been a more accurate measure of his mood.

"Good." Opening the car door, I deposited the case on the back seat. "So you don't need to be standing around making jokes, then?"

His eyes narrowed at that. "You don't give me orders, Snow."

"Very true," I agreed. "But I do hold a rank, and I would prefer to be addressed by that rank – _Captain."_

"There are those of us who have earned our rank and those who haven't," he replied flatly.

"So sorry to hear that you think you might not have earned your rank," I replied sweetly. "Keep at it, you'll get there."

"I meant _you,"_ he growled. "You're Hamilton's pet and everyone knows it."

"If this is about the computer again -" I began.

"_Fuck_ the computer," he retorted. "I'm talking about a promotion and a four-week leave, right after an Endbringer attack, leaving the rest of us to work twice as hard to make up for your absence."

"Look," I sighed, "if you're so upset about that, go see Hamilton. One way or another, he'll get it sorted out."

"Yeah, right," he jeered. "When you don't have an answer, go hide behind your Daddy Warbucks."

Up until that point, I'd been trying to keep my tone light and even. There was no sense in letting him antagonise me, after all. But when he brought Hamilton into it for the second time, I stopped seeing the humour in the situation.

Stepping right up to him, I got right into his face. He wasn't a short man, but I was tall for a woman; even in flats, I had a couple of inches on him. "You will not cast aspersions on the character of a good man and a good officer." My voice was quiet, but I'd been learning from Kinsey; Gordon flinched visibly at my tone.

"You don't give me orders -" His tone was a lot less sure than before.

"I wasn't." As he edged backward, I moved forward, staying inside his comfort zone. "I was telling you a _fact."_

He swallowed. "I -"

"Is there a problem, ma'am?"

Gordon jumped when Kinsey spoke, not three feet behind him. I had seen him coming, of course, but I hadn't given any indication of this.

"No, no problem." Dismissing Gordon from my mind, I nodded at the cases Kinsey was holding. "Is that the last of it?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Put them in the car. We're leaving."

"Ma'am."

I climbed into the passenger seat. There was a double thump from the trunk before it closed, then Kinsey got into the driver's seat a moment later. He started the car; we moved off smoothly. Turning my head, I saw that Gordon was still standing there. A moment later, the car turned a corner and I looked forward again.

I held my silence until we were off the base, but barely half a mile had passed beneath our wheels before I had to say something. "Kinsey?"

"Ma'am?"

"What _is_ it with Captain Gordon?"

He paused for a long moment. "I'm going to presume that you're enquiring about Captain Gordon's attitude."

"His fucking attitude, _yes."_ I paused to take a couple of deep breaths, calming myself down. "Sorry. Didn't mean to swear. But seriously, what the hell _is_ that about?"

He chuckled, surprising me. "Ma'am, you can swear all you like. I've heard worse. As for Captain Gordon … well, I've met men like him before. They have problems being someone's _equal. _They've always got to have the edge, the advantage. Mainly because they see everyone else as struggling to get the advantage over _them."_

"I still don't get it." I frowned in concentration. "When I was a lieutenant, he was friendly. Approachable. Helpful, even."

"That was because you were below him in the chain of command, ma'am. Yes, you were Major Hamilton's prodigy, but that didn't matter because he outranked you. You weren't a threat. Until you were promoted."

"And he's not in the loop about why, so all he sees is a month-long leave and a promotion to Captain," I mused. "But still … why couldn't he just _talk_ to me about it?"

"Men like that never talk about it, ma'am. They try to deal with the perceived threat by other means."

"That doesn't sound good." I recalled, once upon a time, the way Sophia Hess had wanted to remove me as a 'perceived' threat. This had involved attempted murder.

He cleared his throat. "Ah, no, ma'am. In this case, he merely wanted to prove some level of superiority over you. Do you remember the evening when he engaged you in a friendly pistol match?"

"Uh, sure."

-ooo-

* * *

**Friday evening, April 29, 1994**

* * *

_Front sight … front sight … front sight … _I settled the sights on target; my finger stroked the trigger. As I exhaled, it took up the pressure until the flat _crack_ of the small Glock filtered through my ear protectors and the weapon jolted back against my palm.

I was servicing the targets slowly and methodically, not in any particular hurry. It was more a means of meditation for me than anything else. If I had learned anything from my leave in Brockton Bay, it was that I could draw down on another human being and shoot to kill without qualm or quiver. So I was working my way through the targets, getting into a rhythm, when Gordon stepped up beside me.

"Oh, hi," I greeted him, pulling my ear protectors down.

"Hello," he replied, looking me over. I ducked my head slightly; I had been running and lifting weights earlier. Still wearing my faded sweats and with a sweatband pushed back on my forehead, I didn't feel that I looked my best. "Getting in some range time, I see."

"Uh, yeah," I agreed. _Well, it's not like I can deny it._

"Would you mind a bit of a friendly competition?" he asked, his ready grin showing a lot of teeth.

A little taken aback, I blinked. I didn't recall seeing him down at the range all that much, but then, who was I to tell him what he could and could not do? "Uh, sure."

"Well then," he stated, taking his place at the bench rest next to mine and clipping a target on to the overhead bracket, "what say the loser buys the winner drinks?"

"I, uh, I don't drink," I blurted. More specifically, I only drank in very specific circumstances, but that would take too long to explain.

He turned his head and smiled his confident smile. "I don't think that'll be a problem, do you?"

I had pulled up my target and replaced it with a fresh one by the time he had himself set up the way he liked it. Then he stepped around the divider and watched as I reloaded the Glock.

"A bit of a puny weapon for target shooting, isn't it?"

I didn't look his way, in case he thought I was smiling at him. A grin _was_ tugging at my lips, but it was more to do with his mistaken assessment of the pistol. "It does the job."

"Right. Well, your loss. Anyway, I just wanted to say that your left foot should be a couple of inches farther back. And if you raise your left elbow slightly, you'll get a better aim."

I was totally bemused by this point. _He certainly thinks a lot of himself, doesn't he?_

He started out at five yards, placing three in the ten-ring. I duly followed suit; he then motored his target out to the ten-yard range. This time, he took a little more effort to aim; two went into the ten-ring and one just outside it. My three shots punched overlapping holes with the first three.

At fifteen yards, he aimed up carefully and placed one in the ten-ring and one several inches outside of it. The third shot punched blank paper, near the edge. I put the front sight on the target and overlapped some more holes in the centre of the target.

At twenty yards, he hit the target exactly once. My grouping wasn't as tight as it had been before, but all three could have been covered with the palm of my hand.

When he started motoring his target back in, I moved mine out to twenty-five yards. Three more shots went downrange; one clipped the edge of the ten-ring, while the other two were safely within it. By the time I started motoring the target back in, he had finished examining his.

"That can't be right," he declared as my target came within reach. "Was that a clean target when you sent it out?"

"Uh, yeah," I confirmed. "I have a stack, right here." As I spoke, I removed the magazine from the Glock, ejected the round in the chamber and reinserted it in the magazine. "But it's okay," I told him. "I won't hold you to the bet. Like I said, I don't drink."

He took the target and stared at it. My first nine rounds had made a large jagged hole in the centre, with six more surrounding it. Abruptly, he put it down and returned to his own firing point; collecting his pistol, he hung the ear protectors on the divider and left. Shrugging, I reloaded the Glock, sent a fresh target downrange, and replaced my ear protectors. At twenty yards, I stopped the target. I had already dismissed Gordon's visit from my mind. _Let's see if I can't tighten that grouping …_

-ooo-

* * *

**In the Car**

* * *

"So wait, that was him trying to one-up me?" It was a bizarre thought. "Did he not see the footage of me in Brockton Bay, at Winslow?"

Kinsey shrugged slightly. "Perhaps, ma'am. But people like that are particularly good at self-deception. If they can't do it, then nobody can."

"And he's an intelligence analyst." I shook my head. "That's worrisome, right there."

Kinsey looked grimly amused. "You do have a point, ma'am."

"Okay, so I outshot him," I mused. "That can't be the only reason he's pissed at me."

"Well, no, it's not," he agreed. "You may recall the following Sunday, in the gym."

I frowned. "Refresh my memory."

"We were sparring," he reminded me. "With padded staffs."

"Ah, right."

-ooo-

* * *

**Sunday, May 1, 1994**

* * *

Kinsey wasn't as good at the finer points of staff combat as he was in unarmed hand to hand, but that didn't mean he was _bad_ at it. The weapons equalised us, more or less; while I had the edge in skill and speed, he outclassed me in sheer brute strength.

Which was the way I liked it; once he had begun to get the hang of it, Kinsey could once more challenge me, push me to my limits. I _needed_ to be on top of my form. The stakes for which I was fighting would not accept second place; without my powers, I had to be able to kick ass any way I could, if and when it became necessary.

And of course Kinsey didn't mind learning new techniques for applied physical mayhem. Which didn't surprise me in the slightest.

We circled each other on the mat, watching eyes and hands for telltale feints. Our staffs thudded against each other, cushioned to accept and deal out blows that would otherwise have split skin and broken ribs. Kinsey was taking no prisoners and nor was I. There was no point in it; technically, this was a friendly spar, but it was also training. And in training, neither of us pulled any punches. If I managed to take him down, he would thank me, get up, then attempt to put me straight through the mat.

We went through a rapid exchange, padded wood smacking against padded wood, then stepped apart. Kinsey nodded to me; I nodded back. Reaching up, I pushed the head protector off and picked up a towel. My hair still wasn't quite long enough to fall into my eyes, but I rubbed the towel over my scalp then hung it around my neck.

"That looked kind of impressive."

Turning, I saw Rob Gordon among the small group of spectators.

"Thanks," I told him, picking up a water bottle and squirting some into my mouth. "I picked it up doing ROTC at college."

"That the same place you learned to shoot, Captain?" asked Leroy Donnelly. Gordon suddenly looked a little sour.

"Yeah," I agreed. "I shot twenty-twos in high school, but I didn't get to use pistols until college."

"I saw the Brockton Bay thing," Donnelly told me. "That was some fancy shooting."

I grinned. "Fun fact. You _can_ actually shoot skeet with a pistol." That got me a few chuckles and some back-slaps.

"So you can shoot, yeah," Gordon acknowledged. "And you can fight with sticks. How are you at _real_ hand to hand, no weapons?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kinsey stiffen slightly. "Oh, I'm reasonable," I assured Gordon. "I figure I can just about hold my own."

He tilted his head at the mat that Kinsey and I had just vacated. "Want to spar for a bit? Go one on one?"

"Uh, Captain, she's just finished a bout," objected Donnelly.

"Quiet, Lieutenant," Gordon ordered. "I was talking to Captain Snow, not you." He hadn't raised his voice overly much, but by the time he finished speaking, there was not another sound to be heard in the gym. "So what about it?" he asked me. "You think you can take me?"

I took stock of him; a little shorter than me, he was heavier in the shoulders, but I didn't think he was all that fit. He didn't hold himself like Kinsey, like someone who was practised at hand to hand. As for myself, I was tired. Kinsey had gotten a few good hits on me in the staff bout – as I had on him – and the bruises would be starting to stiffen soon. But Kinsey had always impressed on me the fact that I wouldn't always be fresh going into a fight – a fact I already knew quite well – and so I figured I had the reserves to go a few rounds with Gordon.

I shrugged then rolled my shoulders. "Sure," I agreed. "What rules? Hands, feet, full contact, blocks and locks?"

"No rules," he decided. "Uh, except no groin kicks."

"Okay," I agreed equably. "And no punching me in the chest." Even in my twenties, I didn't have much in the way of development, but I still didn't feel like being punched there.

"Sure," he responded, tugging off his jogging shoes. "Let's do this."

When I pulled my head-protector back on, the chilled sweat felt unpleasant against my skin. However, since I figured I could handle it, I stepped back on to the mat. While I waited, I rolled my shoulders again, then shook out my arms and legs to make sure my knees and elbows were loose and ready.

Wearing a pair of light padded gloves similar to the ones I had on, Gordon stepped on to the mat. He finished pulling on his own head-protector, then turned to face me. From his stance, he had done at least a little boxing. I didn't take up any particular pose; I just watched him, ready to counter him once I knew what he was going to do.

"So what do you say, Captain Snow?" he asked, bouncing energetically on his bare feet, almost dancing. "Best of three?"

"If you say so, Captain Gordon," I replied.

My bland response didn't seem to be what he wanted; he threw a couple of lefts and rights into the air, grunting slightly with the force he seemed to be putting into them. "Okay, let's make this interesting. If I win, you come out with me to the Club on Saturday night."

"And if I win … ?"

His eye twitched at the question. _"If_ you win, you get to choose your prize. How about that?" He danced on his toes a little more.

"Sure, okay, but I still don't drink."

"Come on, live a little." He seemed to be moving off to the side.

I turned to face him. "I win, you buy me a block of chocolate from the commissary."

"Eh, whatever, sure." He moved in toward me, still dancing on his toes.

Kinsey wasn't a fan of martial arts movies in general, but he made an exception for a few of the higher quality attempts. One such was _Return of the Dragon, _starring Bruce Lee, involving one of Chuck Norris' first film appearances. During the fight scene between the two, Kinsey had pointed out the contrast in the fighting styles; Lee was light on his feet, almost dancing in place, while Norris fought with his feet planted solidly on the ground.

I had been reminded of Brian; while Kinsey would be supplying the final polish on my fighting capabilities, it was my time-lost ex-boyfriend who had given me my first lessons. Their fighting styles were not dissimilar; both were large men who preferred to keep their feet on the ground at all times. Robert, on the other hand, seemed to be trying to emulate Lee.

I moved to meet him. As well as being a little taller, I had reach on him, which I used to land a couple of stinging jabs. These were intended to irritate and annoy rather than put him down, but they also helped gauge how this fight was going to go.

He reacted, throwing a couple of punches back my way; however, I was already fading back after hitting him with the jabs. His punches landed, but lost a lot of their impact. He came after me; I fended him off with more jabs, keeping him just out of reach for any serious glove work. At the same time, I looked over his defences.

He tried to crowd me into a corner of the mat; around us, I could see people beginning to move over to where Gordon and I were sparring. I fended off a punch that skated past my head, then ducked under his arm. When he turned, I was in the middle of the mat.

He came in fast; I went to meet him, surprising him. That surprise increased dramatically when I ducked inside his reach and unloaded two solid body blows into his solar plexus. Gasping, he began to fold; I popped him up under the jaw with a sharp jab, causing his teeth to click together. His cage well and truly rattled, he sat down suddenly on the mat, eyes unfocused and rolling loosely in his head.

"That's one, I think," I observed mildly, stepping back to give him room. "You want to call it there, Robbie?"

Shaking his head, he came back to himself sufficiently to climb to his feet. "No, I'm good," he insisted. "Just give me a moment."

Someone in the growing crowd handed him a water bottle and he squirted it into his mouth; as he did so, I caught sight of Kinsey, leaning against a pole with his arms folded. His eyes flickered to Rob Gordon and he shook his head slowly.

Apparently re-energised, Gordon came at me again. This time, he was covering up hard before he even got close to me. _At least he can learn that lesson._ But … "Ah, Robbie? You're not defending below the waist."

He threw a jab; I fended it off. "I don't have to. You can't kick me in the groin, remember?"

"Mm, true." I took a punch on my forearms, then spun, sweeping my leg through both of his. The impact hurt my shin, but it worked; he landed hard on the mat, knocking the wind out of him. A moment later, I was kneeling on his left arm, my own left holding down his right. My _right_ arm was up and cocked, in the perfect position to deliver a punch to his nose or jaw.

For the count of three I held that pose; he stared up at me, apparently trying to figure out what had just happened. "And that's two, I think," I pointed out. "Looks like I win."

"But you _kicked_ me!" he protested, in between wheezing for breath.

"Not in the groin," I reminded him. "Your legs were fair game." Letting him go, I stood up, offering him my hand to help him up. After a long moment, he accepted; I braced myself and pulled him to his feet. "That's about enough for today," I suggested. "You might want to hit the showers and get a good night's rest. Otherwise, you'll be stiff as a board tomorrow."

"Uh huh," he grunted, moving off with more than a hint of stiffness in his gait.

I watched to make sure that he wasn't about to fall over, then went to grab my towel from Kinsey. "You went easy on him," he observed as I tugged off the head-protector and the gloves. "Why?"

"It was a friendly match," I told him. "I wanted to give him a chance to figure out where he went wrong and maybe learn something from it. If I just beat him unconscious, he'd never learn."

"He'd learn _something,"_ Kinsey grunted. "If only to not challenge you with damn-fool sparring matches."

There really was no answer to that, so I let it go.

-ooo-

* * *

**In the Car**

* * *

"Jeez, I'd nearly forgotten that," I muttered. "Okay, so I blitzed him on the mat in front of a few people -"

"Fifteen, ma'am," he interjected. "I counted them."

"All right, fifteen. But he asked for that match." I paused for a beat. "He thought he could save face by beating me in a _practice match?"_

"Apparently so." His expression appeared to be as bland as ever, but I could tell that he was just a little amused.

"But still, that shouldn't be grounds for him coming after me like he did," I protested. "I mean, yes, he's a dick, but there's a _limit._"

"On Monday evening, ma'am, he made a bet with a few of his cronies." Kinsey's eyes were straight ahead, his voice toneless. "The substance of the wager was that he would have you in his bed, or be in your bed, by Sunday night."

It took a moment for this to get through to me; when it did, I exploded. _"What?_ Stop the car! Turn around! I'm going to hunt that bastard down and -"

"Ma'am." Kinsey's voice cut through my tirade. "He failed, obviously. _That_ hurt him more than any beating you could administer."

"Yeah, but that sleazeball made a _bet_ that he could get into my _pants."_ If steam wasn't coming out my ears, it should have been. "That's so goddamn _wrong."_ Realisation struck me; I turned to him. "If you knew about it, why didn't you warn me earlier?"

He almost looked hurt. "Ma'am, give me _some_ credit. I had faith in you."

My mouth twisted as I finally put events into their proper context. "So all the friendly comments, the box of chocolates, the invitations to a movie night – that was all part of his campaign to seduce me?"

"To make you into his conquest, but yes, ma'am," he agreed.

I thumped my head back against the rest. "For _fuck's _sake," I snapped. "What is it with these guys all wanting to come on to me? It's not like I'm even that good looking!"

Kinsey cleared his throat. "In his case, ma'am, it wasn't about attraction. He had no interest in you as a _person. _This was all about his perceived status. Once he had proven his 'superiority' by bedding you, he would have ignored you until he decided that the lesson needed renewing."

"Christ." I shook my head slowly. "I got out of there just in time, didn't I?"

"That appears to be the case, ma'am."

"Hm. I still think you should have warned me."

"If I'd done that, ma'am, all the bets would have been rendered null and void."

He was still looking straight ahead at the road, but I read the message loud and clear. "Oh no. _You_ were betting too?"

"Well, of _course."_ His tone was entirely matter-of-fact. "I _said_ I had faith in you."

I looked hard at him. "How much did you make?"

"Enough." One corner of his mouth curled upward slightly. "I put fifty on for you, as well."

I blinked. "You did what now?"

"Put fifty bucks on for you." He could have been talking about the weather.

"I didn't even know what he was trying to do!" I wasn't quite sure if I should be happy or horrified about this.

"Like I said, ma'am," he replied with a certain amount of satisfaction. "I had faith in you." He nodded toward the glovebox. "Your winnings are in there."

As if in a dream, I popped the glovebox, to find an envelope within. Opening it revealed a sizeable wad of cash. "Christ, you got all this from betting _fifty bucks?"_

He shrugged. "Well, ma'am, not many guys seemed to think that he wouldn't even get to kiss you. I got pretty good odds."

"Right, then." Replacing the envelope, I closed the glovebox. "Stop the car."

"Ma'am?"

"That is an _order,_ Sergeant. Stop the car … _now."_

Obediently, he pulled the car to the side of the road. The moment the park brake clicked into place, I slugged him.

It wasn't easy. I had to lean forward against the seatbelt and twist so that I wasn't punching across my own body. In addition, I had to do it fast enough that he didn't see it coming. I succeeded at that, or perhaps he chose to let it happen. Either way, I connected; my fist smacked into his jaw, bouncing his head off of the window.

"Take that as a warning, Sergeant," I told him, my voice flat and hard. "To quote your favourite movie of all time, _you ever pull another suckhead play like that, the only thing that's gonna beat you to the brig is the headlights of the ambulance you're on_."

Slowly, he reached up and rubbed his jaw, then worked it back and forth a few times. "So noted, ma'am."

"Good." I settled back into my seat, letting my seatbelt retract. "Drive on, Kinsey."

"Yes, ma'am." Releasing the parking brake, he put the car back into gear and pulled us back on to the road.

I stared out through the windshield and tried to rub my stinging knuckles without appearing to do so. Kinsey drove; to all outward appearances, a man of stone. There was more I needed to say; I just had to figure out how to say it.

A couple of miles had passed beneath the wheels before I spoke up. "Kinsey."

"Ma'am?"

"The very first time I tried hard liquor, my drink was spiked. If I hadn't had my friends with me, things could have gone really badly. It's why I don't drink very often. If Gordon had managed to charm me into having a few drinks with his friends, do you honestly think that he would refrain from doing something like that to get what he wanted? Especially given that the one man who was supposed to be keeping an eye on the situation was _betting on the outcome_ instead?"

A long silence ensued, broken only by the rumble of wheels on asphalt. I didn't look directly at Kinsey; in my peripheral vision, he was staring out through the windshield, his jaw set hard. It must have hurt to tense it like that; I hadn't pulled my punch in the slightest. He would have been mortally offended if I had.

When he spoke at last, it was as if the words were being dragged out of him with pliers. "Ma'am, I was out of line. I let you down badly. I will accept any punishment -"

"Don't be an idiot, Sergeant Kinsey," I told him roughly. "If we fronted Hamilton, you'd lose your stripes, maybe end up with a BCD. But I don't want that. I just want you to _do better._ Understood?"

Slowly, he nodded. "Message received and understood, Captain Snow, ma'am."

"Good." I paused. "How's your jaw?"

"Sore," he admitted. "You hit me harder than I thought you were going to. How's your hand?"

"Same," I replied. "Stings like a son of a bitch."

He chuckled briefly. "Told you that you should've hit Captain Gordon that hard. Might have saved us both a few problems."

"Kinsey," I sighed, "you never said a truer word."

Silence fell once more, but it had a different texture to it. Tension no longer ruled; the air had been cleared. Boundaries had been re-established. Reaching out, I turned the radio on. Soft country music spilled from the speakers.

Leaning my seat back, I closed my eyes and enjoyed the music while Kinsey drove on.

* * *

_Huge, rounded, blue and white, the Earth rolled beneath us._

_**Okay, so spill.**_

_Lisa, her feet anchored by magnetic clamps to the space shuttle, grunted as she took up the last of the strain in the oversized compound bow. Her space suit made her movements a little clumsier than normal, but she wasn't hampered enough to worry about it._

_When she let fly, the tungsten-steel arrow left the bow in a streak of reflected light. A mechanism on the bow imparted spin so that it flew straight and true. We watched as it lanced across the void, effectively invisible except for the tiny blinking light on the tail end._

_I wasn't sure how far away the target was – maybe a mile, maybe more – but we both saw the arrow strike. The explosive head detonated in a flash of light, reducing the small satellite to drifting debris._

"_Yes!" Lisa exulted. "Got him!"_

_**Good shot,**__ I congratulated her dryly, setting an arrow to the cable of my own bow. __**But you didn't answer my question.**_

"_Oh, did you ask a question?" she inquired innocently. "I don't recall a question being asked."_

_I rolled my eyes as I started taking up the slack. __**I told you to spill. The question was implied.**_

"_Okay, __**fine**__," she sighed. "Why didn't I warn you about Gordon? Is that the question?"_

_**Yes, **__I told her flatly. __**That is indeed the question.**_

"_Okay, once more from the top," she replied. "I can tell you what's going to happen so long as you don't do anything to change matters. You chose not to accept Gordon's invitations, so nothing was going to happen to you, so there was nothing to warn you about. Would he have spiked your drink? Yes, pretty likely. He's got the knowledge and the temperament to do it."_

_**Wait, holy shit, he's done this before?**_

"_No. Fortunately, they've always gone along willingly before. Just so you know, he does make a practice of sleeping with attractive young lieutenants. He's good at stringing them along."_

_**He never tried to get me into bed before I was promoted.**__ I wasn't quite sure whether this made me feel relieved or vaguely insulted. Taking a deep breath, I brought the bow up to eye level and began to apply the final strain._

"_It's like Kinsey told you. He was never interested in you as a woman. Just as a threat. He wanted to prove that he was better than you on some level."_

_**So he's broken regs but he hasn't actually committed a crime that a civilian court would convict him for, is that it?**__ The bow was at full extension. I moved my aimpoint slightly, searching for the next target against the brilliant starfield._

"_That's about it," she agreed. "Though a phone call to Hamilton might just cause him to be caught with some of the contraband he's got hidden in his quarters. Including the drug he would have slipped into your drink."_

_I thought about it for a long moment as I steadied my aim, then let fly. The arrow whipped out into the void._

_**Yeah,**__ I decided. __**I think I might.**_

-ooo-

* * *

**PRT Austin  
Tuesday, June 7, 1994  
1324 Hours**

* * *

"You've got a problem."

My voice cut across the room, getting the attention of the people gathered there with me. All were men, all were older than me. One, of course, was Kinsey; he stood off to the side, as unobtrusively as he could manage. Of the others, two were PRT; specifically, the Director and Deputy Director of the Austin station. They, at least, seemed inclined to pay attention and take me seriously. The other two, the local heads of the ATF and the FBI respectively, appeared more dubious.

"With all due respect, young lady," the ATF man, Rodriguez, observed, "I don't see the problem you're referring to."

Hanran, his counterpart from the FBI, didn't speak; he rubbed his chin and looked faintly concerned instead. Director Walsh spoke up in his place. "Captain Snow, what's the nature of this problem? These fringe groups you're looking for information on?"

Thankful for the straight line, I nodded. "Precisely, sir."

Rodriguez shook his head. "I think you're barking up the wrong tree. Sure, they used to be a concern. We were keeping close tabs on them for stockpiling guns and ammo for quite some time. But now they've gone quiet. Stopped buying guns in any great quantities. We've barely heard a peep out of them for a year or two."

"He's right," Hanran put in, although his heart didn't seem to be in it. "They've stopped publishing their religious manifestos. They've even stopped ranting about the government and how it can't be trusted. I mean, we're keeping an eye out, but they're showing all the signs of becoming _less_ of a threat, not _more."_

"And what if this is deliberate?" I asked flatly. "What if they're deliberately fading into the background so that you take your eyes off of them?"

"Even if this was true," Rodriguez objected, "we can't exactly take a _lack_ of activity as evidence of wrongdoing." He looked me up and down. "Where are you getting this from, anyway?"

"I've been analysing the data." There was a large-scale map of the US spread out on the table in the conference room; I looked it over. "All these groups that went quiet around the same time, it was about eighteen months ago, right?"

Hanran and Rodriguez glanced at each other, then back at me. "Uh, sure," Hanran agreed. "But how did you know?"

I hid a sigh. "What do these groups have in common?"

"Well, they hate the government," Hanran supplied.

"Fringe religious beliefs," Deputy Director Grantham added.

"Isolationist," Rodriguez went on.

"Preparing for the end times," Director Walsh finished.

"Well, then -" I began, but Rodriguez cut me off.

"Excuse me a second. I can see where you're going, but let me make something clear here. We've been watching these groups for some time. Sure, they hate the government, but their religious views are generally more important to them than their political views. They hate each other maybe more than they hate us. If you're going to try to sell us on them putting their differences aside and forming one big group, young lady, I'm gonna need a sight more evidence than you've presented so far."

Walsh frowned, but I spoke up first. "Mr Rodriguez, what big world-shattering event happened around about eighteen months ago?"

He paused, but not for long. The answer was, after all, self-evident. "The Behemoth appeared?"

"Precisely." I ticked off names on my fingers. "Marun Field. Sao Paulo. New York. It's hit three widely separated targets; all indications are that it's going to keep hitting _heavily populated_ locations of its choice until it's dealt with, once and for all. So far, the massed power of all the parahumans that have faced it – _including_ the Protectorate – have been able to do nothing more than drive it off. The death toll has been horrendous, and not just among the civilian population. It's the sort of thing that makes even rational people think about the end of the world." I paused to let that sink in. "And each of these groups that's gone quiet already _believes_ in an imminent apocalypse. To them, the Behemoth is just what they've been waiting for."

"Wait, wait," Hanran objected. "You're saying that they've decided to _worship_ that fucking thing?"

I tilted my head slightly. "Not 'worship' as such, I would say. It's more along the lines of … well, say you're the leader of a crackpot fringe apocalypse cult. You've been running your little power trip for years. The superhero thing stoked things up a little, but people got used to that. You're worried that, given the lack of an apocalypse, your flock might start drifting away. And then the Behemoth makes an appearance on the world stage. All of a sudden, all your teachings are validated. They don't so much worship it as point at it and say, 'See? See? I was right after all!'."

Rodriguez was mulling over my words; from the sour expression on his face, he didn't like the taste of them at all. "So you're saying they've consolidated around the belief that the Behemoth is the harbinger of the apocalypse."

"Or that it'll personally cause it, yeah," I agreed. "They already believe that they live in the end times. If you were working down a checklist of what these cults would look for in an End-bringer, to coin a phrase, then the Behemoth would tick a hell of a lot of boxes."

Hanran nodded. "Okay, you've convinced me. But there's something else I'm curious about."

"Shoot," I invited.

He gestured around the room. "Why did you even ask us to come here for this meeting, rather than just drop the information off to us? Even if they _are_ Behemoth cultists now, that still doesn't really put them under the jurisdiction of the PRT."

"Well, that's the other half of the problem," I told him.

"And that doesn't sound ominous _at all,"_ Rodriguez responded. "What's the other half look like?"

I nodded to him. "You said earlier how they're not stockpiling so many guns, right?"

He frowned. "Okay, I'll bite. If they're not stockpiling guns, what _are_ they stockpiling?"

My voice was flat. "Parahumans."

* * *

If I'd tossed a venomous snake into the middle of the table, I might have gotten a less startled response. Walsh and Grantham didn't react overly much, given that I'd briefed them beforehand, but Rodriguez and Hanran were caught flat-footed.

"What? You're _shitting_ me!" That was Hanran.

Rodriguez took it a step farther. "Wait, they're _breeding_ them?"

"Yes and no." I held up my hand to forestall more questions. "Powers are not genetic in nature. We're pretty sure of _that,_ at least. But it's also a documented phenomenon that kids of parahumans are more likely to develop powers. So yes, they'll be trying to do exactly that."

"So I'm guessing that they'll be using these parahumans to try to help the apocalypse along," Hanran surmised. "What are the chances of them actually getting enough parahumans, one way or another, to make a difference?"

"Not huge," I admitted. "But the trouble is, parahumans _are_ a force multiplier, so even if they don't get on to the world stage to help humanity fall the rest of the way, they can still hurt the country a lot by being a destabilising force just when we don't need it."

"Wait, how are they even _getting_ parahumans?" demanded Rodriguez. "It's not like they can put out a want ad."

I shrugged. "You might get one or two joining. After all, being a parahuman is no barrier to being an idiot. And then … well, they'll be doing a lot of inbreeding, working off of the 'powers are genetic' theory. Also, trying to generate powers spontaneously via, well, inbreeding."

Hanran shuddered. "Hillbilly rednecks, with powers, who want to help end the world. I am officially _over_ this shit."

"Okay, I'm convinced," Rodriguez admitted. "But the big problem is that we can't prove _intent._ Parahumans joining an end-of-the-world cult is plenty scary, but it's not actually _illegal._ No matter who they shack up with. I mean, the whole inbreeding thing is pretty well a hillbilly joke anyway."

"Yeah," I agreed, then took a deep breath. "But do you think they'd shy away from, say, kidnapping a parahuman or three to use as breeding material, just to make sure of things?"

Hanran's head came up. "Now _that's_ something we could nail them for," he agreed. "Got any proof for that?"

"I can put together some pretty convincing circumstantial evidence," I told him. "Got those missing-persons files the Director asked you to bring along?"

"I … sure," he told me. Picking up his attache case and putting it on the table, he opened it. Within lay a stack of Manila folders; he lifted them out. "But these are ordinary people, not parahumans. Or rather, we don't have any way to match these names up with missing parahumans."

"We'll see," I told him. "Director?"

His expression sharpening to intense interest, Director Walsh handed over another stack of folders. Each of these bore a codename. "Parahumans who've dropped out of sight in the last eighteen months, between sixteen and twenty-five, powers that aren't really geared toward heavy combat," he reported. "Just as you asked for."

"Yeah, that's all well and good," Rodriguez pointed out. "But how do we match A up to B?"

"That, gentlemen, is my job," I told him, pulling a chair up to where the two stacks resided. "May I have the room for an hour?"

"Wait." That was Hanran. _"You're_ going to - ?"

Director Walsh cleared his throat. "Gentlemen, let's give her the room."

"Except for my orderly," I stated. "He can stay, if you don't mind."

"Certainly, Captain," agreed Walsh. "Come on, gentlemen. While we're waiting, I'll tell you a few stories I got from Director Rankine, in Chicago …"

The door closed behind them. Kinsey cleared his throat. "Is there anything you need, ma'am?"

"Yes, please," I told him. "A pot of tea. You know how I like it."

"Roger that, ma'am," he agreed. He let himself out.

Alone in the room, I looked the folders over, spreading them on the table. Carefully, I sorted them into males and females, placing the stacks opposite one another. Then I leaned back in the chair and closed my eyes. Gradually, I relaxed, letting my consciousness slip away.

* * *

_We sat on the Boardwalk, looking out to sea. In place of the Protectorate base, my memory palace rose out of the ocean, vast and imposing and beautiful. Lisa lounged at the other end of the bench, eating a choc chip ice cream cone. I had caramel crunch, delicious explosions of taste igniting against my tongue with every bite._

_**So do you think this'll put a stop to the Fallen?**__ I asked between bites._

"_It's definitely worth a try," Lisa agreed. "They've got eight captive parahumans in their compound, with three more who are there willingly. You'll get six matches with the folders."_

_**Wait, why do I only get six matches if there are eight captives?**_

"_Because one of the parahumans is a Stranger type who never showed up on the PRT's radar. And another one's fourteen."_

_**Christ,**__ I muttered. __**I should've set the ages lower.**_

"_Don't worry," she assured me. "You've got enough to go on with."_

_I closed my eyes. __**But I should have done this **_**months****_ ago. What those girls are going through -_**

_Leaning across, she flicked me sharply on the ear. "Hey!"_

_My eyes flew open. __**Ow! What was that for?**_

"_To remind you that you can't save everyone, all of the time." Her bottle-green eyes bored into mine. "There are people suffering all over the world, all of the time. People dying in unjust ways. We can't save one tenth of one percent of just the ones in the United States."_

_I drew a deep breath. I hated to admit it, but she was right. __**So what am I doing? Just going through the motions?**_

"_No." Her voice was tart. "You're saving the ones you __**can**__ save. Because, believe me, you'll make a difference to __**them**__."_

_**And I'll stop these people from producing the Fallen and causing misery and death to so many more people in the future.**_

"_Exactly." She nodded approvingly. "And, of course, we're gonna save the world."_

_My smile was reluctant, but it was there. __**Yeah, that too.**__ I ate the last of my caramel crunch._

"_Better." She leaned toward me. "Kiss before you go?"_

_I kissed her; her lips tasted of blood and dust and chocolate chip ice cream. The rising wind whipped her hair around my face. I blinked -_

* * *

\- and I was sitting in the conference room with all the folders off to one side except for six; these were stacked in twos before me. There was a cup of tea at my elbow, the level halfway down. I wished that I remembered drinking it.

"Kinsey," I told the sergeant as I picked up the cup, "would you kindly let the Director and the others know that I'm ready to see them again?"

"Ma'am," he acknowledged, going to the door.

I rose as they trooped in; I saw their eyes go to the six stacks in front of me. "You have your matches, gentlemen," I told them. "These people are the ones being held against their will."

Walsh's eyebrows rose as he picked up one pair of folders and flicked through each of them in turn. "Well, the data seems to match," he murmured.

Grantham had another pair of folders in hand. "These do, too," he agreed.

Hanran came over to me. "Well, this gives us a good case for reasonable suspicion," he agreed. "Now all we need is a location to hit."

"Oh, that's the easy part," I told him. Leaning over the map, I tapped a location toward the north-east part of Texas. "Just about … here."

"Huh." Walsh leaned over, looking at the map. "Just near … Waco. Right."

"Hm." Rodriguez peered at the same spot. "Makes sense. One of those groups already had a compound there, if I recall correctly."

I nodded. "You do indeed recall correctly. All of my analysis indicates that these groups have been gravitating toward this main group. There will have been some infighting, but that would mainly be to determine who runs the show. Their main tenet of belief – that the Behemoth is the harbinger of the world's end – will be pretty well set in stone."

"So how do we run this?" It was a measure of Walsh's respect toward me that he directed the query in my direction. "Knock on the door with a warrant, or kick in the door and hand them the warrant after the dust settles?"

"Either way runs a risk toward the welfare of the captives," I noted. "Knocking on the door, letting them know that we know that they've got the parahumans, runs a high risk of them delaying long enough to quietly kill their captives and bury them in shallow graves. Kicking in the door leaves the risk that they'll react without thinking and kill them anyway." I didn't have to refer to Lisa for that one; my grounding in criminal psychology had given me the answer.

Rodriguez looked down at the map. "Which makes it a lose-lose situation. Got a way out of this?"

"Sure," I agreed. "I go in as well. Give me a good look at the compound and I should be able to figure out where the captives are being kept. We knock politely with the warrant; if they attempt to delay in any way, we do an aerial assault, a strike squad lands on the roof of the building where the captives are being kept, smashes their way in there and secures them. After that, we can deal with the rest of the cultists in our own time."

"You do realise that _less_ guns being stockpiled doesn't mean _no_ guns being stockpiled, right?" The ATF man's voice was sour. "We're going to be essentially breaking and entering into private property where the homeowners are armed, dangerous and very willing to shoot at government troops."

"We're _also_ going in to rescue six young women who are being held against their will for the most degrading of purposes," I snapped. "You do what you have to do, Mr Rodriguez, but don't stand in the way of that."

-ooo-

* * *

**Friday, June 10, 1994  
Bergstrom AFB, Austin TX  
0931 Hours**

* * *

"Taylor!"

I turned at the familiar voice. She emerged from the rear of the large cargo plane and advanced in my direction over the tarmac. Halting before me, she threw a salute which I returned. Eschewing a handshake, we hugged, ignoring the bemused glances of those around us. Her embrace creaked my ribs before we pulled apart, but I didn't care.

"Emily, how are you?"

She grinned at me, teeth white against her tanned skin. "Kicking ass. Taking names. How about you? You look well. And a Captain, no less. You're burning up the chain of command, aren't you?"

"Well, therein lies a story." I clapped her on the shoulder and turned to Kinsey, who had watched the byplay with impassive interest. "Kinsey, I want you to meet Lieutenant Emily Piggot. We went through Basic together. I lost count of the number of muddy holes she pulled me out of. Emily, this is Sergeant James Kinsey, my orderly."

Kinsey saluted. "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."

She returned the salute then held out her hand. "When we're off duty, Sergeant, it'll be Emily. And we'll swap embarrassing stories about the Captain behind her back."

He took it; they shook once, firmly but without the bullshit whose-grip-is-stronger contest. "I look forward to it, ma'am."

Emily nodded, then turned back to me. "So, before we get to the serious stuff. That thing that happened in Brockton Bay. That _was_ you, right?"

"That was me, yeah," I agreed. "I kind of didn't have a choice in the matter."

"Yeah, I just bet." She glanced around. "Oop, gotta go check in. But we'll catch up."

"Yeah, we will." I watched her hustle away. "Well," I murmured. _"That_ makes life interesting."

"Old friends, ma'am," Kinsey commented from behind me. "They turn up when you least expect them."

"Too true, Kinsey," I agreed. "Too true." I looked around. "Now, where were we holding the briefing again?"

He pointed. "Over there, ma'am."

"Right. Let's go get set up."

-ooo-

* * *

**1123 Hours**

* * *

I stood before the PRT strike team in the darkened conference room. "You've been told the objective and the location. Now for a little background. These are _fanatics._ They believe that the world is ending soon, that the Behemoth is the harbinger for this event, and that what they believe is right and proper. They _will _shoot at you."

I took a breath; the silence in the room was almost absolute. "This particular group was being run by a man called Vernon Howell. Eighteen months ago, after the Behemoth event, a woman called Vicki Weaver and her family came to join them. They were the first of many; initially, Howell and Weaver jointly presided over the combined groups, which they began to call the Brotherhood of the Fallen. But from what information we've been able to gather, internal conflict has ousted them in favour of a man called Hadrian Lange." A photo flashed up on the screen behind me. "This is probably a pseudonym; we haven't been able to find any information on him."

More photos went up on the screen. "These three are apparently parahumans who have joined the Brotherhood of their own free will. We think that they correlate to these three villains." Blurry photos joined the first three. "You will each be given data sheets on their powers." I paused. "Next photos please?"

Six new photos went up on the screen. "These are the six parahumans who we know they have in captivity." A rolling murmur went through the audience; I wasn't surprised, given that each image was of a young woman or teenage girl. "There may be more. These are the people we are going in to rescue. They are being kept for the specific purpose of breeding more parahumans."

This time, the murmur was more of a rumble, with definite overtones of anger. I let it die down of its own accord. "You will also be supplied photos of these people." I took a deep breath. "Now, due to jurisdictional issues, the PRT strike squad and the Protectorate heroes assigned to this mission will be tasked _specifically _with countering the hostile parahumans and rescuing the captives. The ATF will be seizing the armoury, while the FBI is there to suppress the civilian members of the Brotherhood, arrest their leader and to steer non-combatants away from the fighting. We will also be supported by the Texas Rangers and the National Guard." I looked over the faces in the room, pale from reflected light. "Note that we _will_ be engaging in mutual support. We'll be there for one another. But the PRT's stated objective is to get those girls and exfiltrate soonest. The ATF's is to deny the Brotherhood access to their stockpile of weapons. And the FBI's is to take Lange into custody."

I paused and took a sip from the glass of water on the podium. "We've done drone overflights of the compound; two of the six captives have been spotted being moved between buildings, while one of the parahuman members has also been seen. So we _know_ that they're there. This is not a theoretical exercise. It's a rescue mission. Overview of the compound, please." The image flashed up on the screen. I palmed my laser pointer, put a circle around a particular building. "The captives are being held in this building." Moving it to another one, I marked that as well. "This is the armoury, which is where the ATF will be headed."

A hand went up. "What's the exit plan, ma'am?"

"I'm glad you asked. Plan Alpha is to get on to the roof and be picked up by helo. Plan Bravo is to bunker down and let reinforcements come to you. And Plan Charlie is to fight your way out." I paused. "Any more questions?"

A long pause, then someone responded. "Are you coming in with us, ma'am?"

"I would dearly love to," I admitted. "But I've been overruled from on high -" Director Walsh had been quite adamant on that score. "- and so I'm sitting this one out. But I'll be quarterbacking you all the way." I took a step forward. "However, make no mistake. If things go pear-shaped, I _will_ be coming in to get you out."

The applause was sudden enough to surprise me. Kinsey stepped forward to stand next to me. Under the cover of the noise, he leaned in and stated quietly, "Correction, ma'am. _We'll_ be going in."

I barely moved my lips as I replied. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

-ooo-

* * *

**Saturday, June 11, 1994  
1105 Hours**

* * *

"_Five minutes until we're over the target, ma'am."_

I fought down a yawn. "Five minutes, roger."

The airframe shook around me. I didn't really like helicopters; it seemed too much like they were going to come apart at any moment. Also, far too noisy for my liking. But it was the quickest way to get from Austin to Waco; the ground forces had set out hours previously, travelling by truck and SUV. I wondered why I was so tired all of a sudden. After all, it wasn't as if rising early wasn't my habit by now.

Rodriguez and Hanran were sharing the helo with me; we were going to be the eyes-in-the-sky, looking down on the operation and providing minute-by-minute support. Director Walsh was in the fourth seat, while Deputy Director Grantham held down the fort in Austin. Kinsey sat behind me.

I had requested a flyby of the compound itself so that I could get an eyeball of the situation on the ground. Walsh had permitted it, on the condition that I didn't go fast-roping out of the aircraft to join the grunts. I didn't blame him; part of me wanted to do just that. I had even decked myself out in body armour and sidearm, on the principle that if I had to go in, I didn't want to waste time getting ready.

Yawning again, I settled back in my seat and closed my eyes. _About time to check in with Lisa._ It should have been more difficult, given the fact that I'd been riding in a noisy aircraft for an hour, but it was actually surprisingly easy. Slowly, I drifted away …

* * *

_Lisa grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me. "Turn the helicopter around!" she shouted. "Get out of there! They're ready for you! It's a trap!"_

_Oddly, I felt myself falling sideways. Smoke stung my nostrils. Lisa kissed me, hard. Dust and blood filled my tastebuds. I blinked._

* * *

My eyes opened to noise and fire. Something had slashed through the helicopter, leaving molten trails of metal. One or more of the other passengers was dead, blood sprayed across the inside of the fuselage. The helicopter was tilting crazily; I grabbed for my armrests. Horrific sounds of metal grinding against metal were audible even inside the helmet earpieces.

"_This is Woodpecker One," _the pilot reported over the radio, his voice carefully calm even as his aircraft fell from the sky. _"We have sustained damage. There are casualties on board. We are going down. Mayday. Mayday. Mayday."_

Buildings rushed toward us.

_Impact._

* * *

End of Part 5-1


	33. Chapter 33

**/o\**

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 5-2: Out of the Frying Pan

* * *

**Saturday, June 11, 1994  
The Compound**

* * *

Kari Schultz buried her face in the thin, hard pillow and tried hard not to sob audibly. Smasher was 'visiting' Joanne in the next cubicle; Kari folded the pillow around her head so she didn't have to hear the noises. Tears stung her eyes and she hunched around her misery. Even as she tried to get more comfortable, the leather cuff around her right ankle pulled tight, reminding her once again of her captivity.

Despite her own personal troubles, one thought kept intruding. _Oh god, I hope Mom's okay._

Behind her, the door opened.

-ooo-

* * *

**Monday, May 16, 1994  
A Small Town in Texas**

* * *

"Theeere we go." Kari helped her mother settle her legs into the wheelchair. "Comfy, Mom?"

"Yes, dear." Kari's mother, both legs paralysed from the accident that had killed her husband, smiled up at her daughter. "Thank you. You're such a help."

"You're my mom. I'm not about to leave you on your own." Kari planted a kiss on top of her mother's head, then took the handles of the wheelchair.

"Your father would be so proud to see how you've stepped up," her mother insisted.

"I'm just doing what needs to be done." Kari pushed the wheelchair out of the bedroom, into the living room, and through to the kitchen. With her mother at the table, they chatted as she cooked breakfast. Her mother was right; she _had _been a typical teen before the accident. Before … well, before.

But now she was getting better and better at cooking. Responsibility was now something that came naturally to her; checking her mother for bedsores, helping her in and out of the tub, in and out of bed, it was all now part of her daily routine. This was not the life she would have chosen for herself a year ago, but it was the one she had.

_If only Dad was still here …_

* * *

The car accident had been such a stupid thing. A patch of oil on the road plus a passing car swerving too close had caused her father to lose control of the vehicle. The car had gone off the embankment, rolling over several times. Kari must have bumped her head, because she came to a few minutes later. She was at a weird angle, with part of the roof pressing down on her. Ominously, there was no movement, no noise from the front seats. She had called out to her parents; there was no reply.

And then she smelt gasoline, the thick vapours making her cough and gag.

That was when she panicked. She had struggled, screaming, desperate to get out, to survive, to get away. With her bare hands, she had torn at the metal imprisoning her. Her nails tore, her skin bruised, but she was no closer to getting out. _I'm going to die here._

And then, it all changed. The metal curled away at her touch, stretching and tearing like wet newspaper. She wrenched herself free of the seat-belt, climbed out of the hole she had made. Staring at her hands, uncomprehending. _How did I do that?_

She had torn open the car to get her parents free. Unable to drag them up the embankment, unsure if they were even alive, she had hauled them as far as she was able away from the car, in case it caught fire or exploded or something. Then she had scrambled up to the road and flagged down the first car to happen by.

Her mother lived, paralysed from the waist down. Her father had died at some point between the crash and help getting there; she was haunted by the idea that had she been with him, had she known first aid, she might have kept him alive long enough for proper medical attention to save him.

* * *

The phone rang, jolting her from her reverie. Looking down, she saw that the eggs were done. "Here, Mom," she said, putting the pan on the table. "Can you serve these out? I'll get the phone."

Dashing across the room, she grabbed the receiver before it stopped ringing. "Hello?"

"_Hello? Am I speaking to Kari Schultz?"_

"Yes, you are," she replied warily. "Who is this?"

"_I represent a businessman who would like to speak to you about hiring your services -"_

"No."

"_I beg your pardon?"_

"I said no." Kari took a deep breath. "Ever since it came out that I've got powers, you – you _parasites_ have been on me to use them in one way or another. I don't want to. In fact, I wish I'd never gotten powers at all. They've been nothing but a burden to me. First the news, then the would-be superheroes, then you people. I wish you'd all just _go away."_

"_But there is quite a substantial amount of money on offer here. Your mother's medical bills -"_

"- are paid for. We have _insurance. _Now _leave me alone."_ She didn't quite slam the phone down, but she did put it down with more force than strictly necessary.

"Another one, dear?" Her mother looked up at her mildly as she got back to the table. "What was it this time?"

"A 'businessman' with a 'substantial offer'." Kari took a deep breath, then another. "Pretty sure it was something illegal."

"Probably." Her mother smiled at her. "I got a call like that while you were at the shops the other day. I told them that I was recording the call. You've never heard anyone hang up so quickly."

"Huh. Maybe I should do that too." Kari took a forkful of egg. "At least the PRT were nice enough to leave me alone after I told them that no, I didn't want to be in the Wards."

"You know," her mother mused, "you could do a great deal of good -"

"I already do a great deal of good," Kari told her. "Right here. With you. I don't want to be a superhero. I want to be _your_ hero."

"And you are, sweetie. You are."

* * *

They finished breakfast and Kari washed up, then checked the fridge. "Just going down to the shops to get some milk and the newspaper," she reported to her mother, who was now knitting while watching TV. "Anything else I should get while I'm there?"

"Some fruit would be nice, dear," her mother said. "And I think we're almost out of toilet paper."

"I'll get another few rolls," Kari decided, scribbling on the back of an envelope. "Toilet … paper."

It was only a few blocks to the shops; in the sleepy West Texas town where she lived, it was only a few blocks to go anywhere. Kari enjoyed the exercise, swinging out her arms and enjoying the brisk morning breeze. The town was small enough that everyone knew most everyone else, and so she drew waves and smiles from people as she made her way down the pavement. She had drawn a certain amount of notoriety when her powers first became known, but given that she didn't make a big deal of it, public perception of her soon changed from 'Kari, who's got powers' to 'Kari, who's helping her mother'.

"Kari!" It was a child's voice; she turned around to see Johnny and Lisa running toward her. Johnny was ten and his sister Lisa was eight; she had baby-sat them more than once. They were good kids, if a bit excitable.

"Hey, guys," she greeted them. "How's things?"

"Great!" Johnny enthused. "Hey, Kari, can you do your trick with this?" He held out a large metal washer.

"Yeah, do your trick," Lisa urged.

Inwardly, Kari sighed. She had given in to the temptation to show off to the younger kids a few times, and now they wouldn't leave her alone about it. They were worse than the people making the phone calls in a way, but at least with the kids she knew what they wanted.

"Sorry." She shook her head. "I don't do that any more."

"Just once?" wheedled Lisa. "Pleeeeze?" She looked up at Kari with an amazingly pitiful lost-puppy expression.

Kari sighed. "No. Sorry. Just leave it alone, all right?" _If I do it this time, they'll keep coming back._

"Okay," Johnny agreed. "Come on, Lisa."

Reluctantly, the two children headed off down the street. Faintly, she head the boy saying, "See, I told you it wouldn't work …"

Shaking her head just a little, Kari went into the general store and spent the next few minutes picking out her purchases. The guy behind the counter barely paid any attention to her as he rang it up and made change out of the money she handed him, for which she was grateful. _I could go the next month without hearing about my powers, and I'd be glad of it._

Back on the street, she struck out for home, already planning the day ahead. Once she had the groceries in the fridge and her chores done, she would settle down and do the home-schooling material that she had been sent. She could really be attending the local middle school, but she didn't like the idea of leaving her mother alone for any length of time.

Engrossed in her thoughts as she was, she barely noticed the van that slowed as it approached her. It pulled over as she passed by, then a voice called out. "Excuse me, kid, can you help me?"

Stopping, she turned around, to see a man leaning out of the passenger side window of the van. "Uh yeah, sure. What's up?"

The man did a picture-perfect double-take. "Wait, are you that Schultz kid? The one with the powers?"

Her lips tightened. "So what if I am? I don't use them. Now, did you need a hand or can I go now?"

For an answer, the rear doors of the van burst open and two large, burly men burst out. Before she knew quite what was happening, they grabbed her. One slapped a bunched up cloth over her face; the acrid smell made her head spin. The other pulled a bag over her head. She tried to struggle, tried to scream, but to no avail. Her head began to swim; the last thing she registered before passing out altogether was the sensation of being dragged into the van.

* * *

Wakefulness returned slowly. She blinked her way to full awareness, looking around muzzily. For a long moment, she thought that she had overslept, that her mother was waiting on her. But the room was wrong, the bed was uncomfortable and the shift she wore was thin and scratchy, totally unlike the flannel pyjamas she preferred.

And then she became aware of the people standing in the room. Men. Total strangers. Looking down at her. She screamed and tried to scramble back up the bed, dragging the thin sheet with her. However, halfway there, something fastened around her right ankle pulled her to a sudden halt. A rope, stretching from beneath the sheet to one post of the cot, had gone taut, preventing her from retreating any farther. With another scream, she cowered, pulling the sheet up and doing her best to cover herself with it.

"Shut up." It was the man standing at the forefront of the group who spoke. His voice was deep, resonant and harsh. He had features to match; hard, rawboned, uncompromising.

When she didn't stop screaming, he stepped forward and slapped her twice across the face. His hand was large and work-roughened; it jolted her face from side to side. Her ears rang with the impacts and she stopped screaming, if only to try to figure out which way was up. A coppery taste in her mouth told her that she had bitten her lip when he hit her.

"Good." His tone never changed. "Now stay quiet."

Her eyes wide, she cringed away from him. The last time she had been struck was when her father paddled her for stealing cookies. That had been six years ago, when she was eight years old. Nobody had ever hit her in the face before, much less an adult man.

"What – what do you want?" she whimpered. "Where am I? Why am I here?"

"You're here because you've got powers." Her cheeks were stinging now. She thought she could feel a trickle of blood from her nose. But that was nothing to the sense of shock at his statement.

"What? This is because of my _powers?"_

He nodded, once. "Yes."

This was making no sense at all. "But … my powers aren't that great. And I don't use them. Not for anyone. Not for any amount of money. If you know who I am, then you know that."

His face twisted and for a moment, she thought he was angry, that he was going to hit her again. And then she realised that the grimace was what he used for a smile. She wished he wouldn't; it was worse than his ordinary expression. "You're not here to use your powers, girl."

"I … what?"

"I'm not stupid enough to think that you'd use your powers for our cause. You don't see the Truth, after all." His expression was of one viewing a holy revelation. It was possibly worse than the smile. "But your children will. They'll be raised in it."

She almost choked on the word. "Ch … children?" It took her a long moment to realise the implications of what he was saying. When she did, she wanted to throw up. "No. No. No. Please, no."

Turning away from her, ignoring her words as if she were just an object, a thing, the rawboned man looked at the three other men in the room. For the first time, she realised that they wore costumes, or at least masks. Trying to ignore her terror of what had been intimated was going to happen to her, she focused on them.

The first was a man of average height and build. He wore a costume that was yellow around the hands and arms, fading to a greyish-black for the rest of it. Despite the domino mask he wore, the look he gave her would have made her skin crawl if she hadn't been already terrified.

The second was a head taller than everyone else in the room; his build suggested a body-builder or weightlifter. His skin tone suggested stone rather than flesh, he had no hair, and his eyes were deep-set red orbs. He wore a sleeveless black shirt and long pants; there was a white fist crudely stencilled on the front of the shirt. There was no expression on his face as he looked at Kari.

The last of the three was a teenager, as far as she could tell. She couldn't see his face or hair, but from his short sleeves, she could tell he had swarthy skin. His expression was hidden behind a full-face mask, striped in black and yellow. His costume also had black and yellow stripes over it. This should have had the effect of making him look vaguely comical or clownish, but somehow they just made him look sinister.

"Well, gentlemen," the man stated. "Which of you will take her on?"

"For God's sake," she screamed, getting her voice back. "I'm only _fourteen!"_

A second later, her ears rang all over again as her head rocked back from another slap.

"You will speak only when spoken to," warned the man. "My name is Hadrian Lange. You will address me as 'Mr Lange' or 'sir'. Preferably, you will not address me at all." Taking a hold of her shoulder-length blonde hair, he pulled her head back until they were eye to eye. "Do you understand? Say 'yes, Mr Lange, sir'."

Blinking the tears of pain from her eyes, she managed to croak, "Yes, Mr Lange, sir." More blood was in her mouth; she wasn't sure that one of her teeth hadn't been loosened.

"Good," he purred. "You can learn after all." Stepping back, he gestured to her while looking at the men. "So, which of you wants to break her in?"

The big man with the stonelike skin shook his head. "Not me. I'd kill her. You don't want that." His voice was understandably deep, but quite human. He turned and trod from the room, his steps making the floor shake.

There was a long silence, then Lange looked at the other two. "Quite right. Well, that leaves you two. Anyone?"

Terrified, Kari stared at the costumed men, willing them to retreat as the big one had done. _Maybe if nobody wants to -_

"Well then," Lange decided briskly, "if neither of you is up to the task, I'll do it. You two can wait outside." He began to unbuckle his belt.

"Me!" blurted the younger of the two remaining parahumans. "I'll do it. I'll, uh, I'll break her in." His accent was definitely Mexican.

Lange paused and looked over at the teenager. "Really?" One eyebrow raised. "Are you sure you're up to it?"

The kid pushed his chest out slightly. "A year ago, _mi papi_ was beaten to death before my eyes. Then I got my powers and killed the man who did it. _Si_, I can do it, _jefe."_

"One man, junior?" asked the other parahuman. "Chump change. Ever murdered a busload of nuns?"

"What, you have -?" began the boy.

"Hah, nah. But I always wanted to." The older man chuckled. "I went to a Catholic school. I fuckin' _hate_ nuns."

Lange slapped the man on the shoulder. "You'll probably get your chance, Sunstrike. But now I think we should leave Aguijón alone to get acquainted with the girl. You know how young love is."

"Maybe we should stay and make sure he does the job right," Sunstrike suggested.

Aguijón muttered something in Spanish that Sunstrike apparently understood, because he flushed slightly. "You want to say that again, junior?" he asked. The room darkened slightly, while a glow built around his hands.

"Now, let's not fight," Lange interjected. "Sunstrike, let's go." He turned to Aguijón. "Remember, no metal gets near her."

They went out together; the door closed behind them. Kari looked at the boy called Aguijón.

"Please," she whispered. "Please, please, _please._ Don't do this. I'm _begging_ you."

Slowly, he pulled off the mask. He wasn't quite as young as she had thought, but he was still only a few years older than her, seventeen or eighteen at most. The look around his eyes, though … going by that, he could have been decades older. "I didn't know what to do," he confessed slowly. "He is my _jefe._ But I couldn't let them just … do that to you. So I told them I would do it."

"Please, don't," she repeated.

"I don't want to do it," he blurted. "I don't want _them_ to do it, either."

"Then _don't,"_ she insisted. "Please."

"I … will not," he assured her. "But I don't know how long the _jefe's_ patience will last."

He sat down on the side of the cot; she cringed away from him.

"I won't hurt you," he said, carefully picking his words. "What is your name?"

"Kari," she whispered. "Kari Schultz."

He nodded solemnly. "I am Roberto. Roberto Garcia."

She took a deep breath. "Why are you with these people?"

-ooo-

* * *

**Tuesday, July 20, 1993  
Not Far North of the Mexican Border**

* * *

"'Berto!" shouted his father in Spanish. "Get out here, you lazy lout! The truck is almost here!"

Roberto hastened to obey, jumping up from in front of the antiquated TV set and running outside. "Have you seen the news, Dad?" he asked in the same language as he joined him at the side of the road.

"Will the news help us pick fruit any faster?" his father said harshly.

"No, but it was about superheroes fighting -"

"Superheroes!" The elder Garcia spat expertly into the dust. "Do _they_ come and help us pick our crops? No. Do they stop pigs like Jenkinson from stealing our wages and giving us barely enough to eat and drink while we pick his fruit? No. I piss on them!"

"I think this is serious," Roberto insisted. "It was that monster. It's back. They were fighting it."

"What monster?" asked his father.

"The one that the heroes fought in Iran, or wherever it was, back in December. It came back, but this time in Sao Paulo."

"I do not believe that this thing is true," his father muttered. "The heroes made it up so that we would worship them some more." He shaded his eyes as a rattling noise became audible in the distance. "Here comes the truck."

"No, it is real, I am sure of it. It's as tall as three houses, one on top of the other. It killed heroes like you or I would swat a fly." To illustrate, Roberto slapped a horsefly that had landed on his arm, then wiped off the mess on his shirt.

"Unless it wants to come here and swat Jenkinson like a fly, or help us pick the fruit, then I don't care." The truck pulled up alongside and Roberto's father swung aboard, then extended an arm for his son to clamber up as well. "Now, I don't want to hear any more of it."

But Roberto could not help thinking about the creature that they called _el Gigante_. It had been so huge, so terrifying, so unstoppable. _What does it mean?_

* * *

Roberto was just six paces behind the old man he knew only as Hernandez when the latter stumbled, then collapsed. His basket fell to the ground, the freshly-picked cherries spilling in the dust.

"Hey," Roberto said. "You okay, _senór?"_ Setting his own basket down, he started forward. However, he had only just knelt down beside Hernandez before a large hand seized upon his shoulder.

"Get back to work, you lazy little shit," growled the rough voice of Jenkinson, the work overseer. "And you, Pancho, get up. No lying down on the job here."

"I think he is not -" Roberto got no farther before he was physically pushed back, to sprawl on the ground. The breath was knocked out of him and he struggled to focus.

"You don't give me any lip, kid," Jenkinson told him, "and you get no trouble. Now, I already told you to get back to work once."

"Hoy!" Roberto recognised his father's voice; a vague shape stepped past him to confront Jenkinson. "You don't touch _mi hijo,_ _cabrón!"_

From the way Jenkinson's breath sucked in, he obviously recognised the word, or perhaps he just knew that he'd been insulted without understanding the specifics. Either way, he lashed out with a slap that rocked Garcia's head to one side.

Roberto's father was no brawler, but one did not make the trip north to the United States, or survive in the fruit picking trade, without having a certain amount of toughness. He shook his head and shoved Jenkinson, hard. Then he spat in his face.

Roberto was just climbing to his feet when Jenkinson came forward again. This time, the overseer's fists were clenched and there was blood in his eye. His first punch caught Roberto's father in the gut; as the man folded, Jenkinson smashed him in the face with the second. Garcia staggered, but Jenkinson wasn't done yet. He grabbed the Mexican by his shirt-front and pounded blow after blow into his face and body.

"_Papi!"_ Roberto started forward, but a casual back-hand from Jenkinson lifted him off his feet and landed him across his own basket; wicker splintered and cherries squashed beneath him. His head rang and he tasted blood in his mouth.

It was only vaguely that he could focus on what was happening before him; his father seemed to have recovered a little and was struggling with Jenkinson. But the overseer was a big man, stronger than Garcia, and far more versed in brawling. All Roberto could hear were the heavy punishing blows, like a baseball bat hitting a side of beef.

By the time his head cleared, it was all over; Jenkinson stood, Roberto's father hanging limply by his shirt-front, still clenched in the overseer's large fist. With a contemptuous motion, Jenkinson tossed Roberto's father down so that he landed beside his son. "Get him up and working," he sneered. "Or you both go without pay."

Painfully, Roberto rolled over and shook his father. "Dad," he whispered in Spanish. "Dad. Wake up." The elder Garcia didn't respond; his head lolled limply from side to side. Roberto gagged to see the blood that coated his face and chest. "Dad," he repeated, more loudly.

It was then that he realised that his father's chest was not rising and falling, that he could not hear breathing. Getting up on his knees, he shook his father again. "Dad? Wake up!"

Holding his ear over the elder Garcia's mouth, he could not hear breathing, nor feel the warmth of expelled air. "Dad? No! Dad!"

In that moment, Roberto's world came crashing down around him. His father had been the pillar of strength in his life, the mainstay around which all else had revolved. When his mother had died of the coughing sickness, his father had nursed her for days on end, had dug the grave with his own hands, had laid her to rest and dried Roberto's tears. When Roberto had thought he could not go on, his father had been there to be strong for him. And now he was dead.

He blinked, and the world changed. When he opened his eyes, Jenkinson was standing over them both. Reaching down, the big man took ahold of Roberto's hair and lifted him to his feet with main force. "I said, get him -"

He never saw it coming. With a scream of loss and anger, Roberto lifted both his hands, now liberally bedaubed with his father's blood, and sent a stream of … of _things_ streaking from them into Jenkinson's face. They were small and looked as though they were coloured in black and yellow, so a small corner of his mind dubbed them 'bees'.

When they struck the overseer, the effect was as though he had been stung by bees in truth. The tiny projectiles disappeared as they hit, but each one left a bloody pockmark about the size of the end of Roberto's finger. Just one would not have done much damage. But he wasn't dealing with just one.

Jenkinson's scream was music to Roberto's ears. He let go Roberto's hair and stumbled back, his hands going to his face. Already, the brutal features were a bloody mess; Roberto was fairly sure that his left eye had already burst, the clear stuff inside dribbling down his cheek.

Roberto remained where he was, but the 'bees' kept coming, streaming from his fingertips, blasting toward Jenkinson. The backs of the overseer's hands were pocked in their turn, then Roberto directed his attack toward the overseer's throat. Each projectile tore out another tiny piece of flesh; Jenkinson tried to defend himself, but he didn't have enough hands for the job. So he turned and ran.

That didn't save him. The 'bees' followed him, veering around other people at a thought, ripping into his back, into the back of his neck and his buttocks. The rugged work clothes that the bigger man wore didn't protect him for more than a moment; as the flesh of his face had been shredded, so was the tough cloth.

Roberto could have run after him, but he didn't. Instead, he had the 'bees' swarm around his enemy, forming a tighter and tighter swirling mass, with Jenkinson at the centre. The other workers were staring, some backing off, as Roberto generated more and more of the tiny yellow and black objects.

Jenkinson may have tried to scream, but no more than a horrid gurgle came out, just before the 'bees' entered his mouth. He staggered and fell then, apparently unable to keep going. Roberto kept up the attack, only ceasing when it was abundantly clear that the man was dead. In fact, while it was just barely possible to determine that the remains had once been a human being, anyone but a forensic pathologist would be hard put to identify who he actually was.

The last of the tiny projectiles hit the mound of dead flesh, created one last pockmark and disappeared. Roberto looked at what was left of Jenkinson; for the first time, as the rage ebbed, he truly _looked_ at what his newfound powers had done to what had been, moments before, a living person.

He fell to his knees and vomited. Up came his breakfast, as well as the few crusts of bread that he'd had on the truck and the half-dozen cherries that he had popped into his mouth when Jenkinson was looking the other way. He heaved, throwing up everything in his stomach, gagging on the bile, until nothing was left to bring up.

As he subsided, panting, there was a light touch on his shoulder. He looked around, face still wet with the tears that had run unheeded down his cheeks even as he directed the deadly attack against Jenkinson.

Jorge, one of the other workers, took a cautious step back. "You should go," he said diffidently in Spanish.

Roberto spat to clear his mouth. "I can't," he replied in the same language. "I have to – my Dad -"

"We will see that he is buried properly," Jorge assured him. "But you must go. You have killed an American on American soil. They do not forgive things like that."

"But he killed my Dad!" protested Roberto.

"It does not matter." Jorge's words were now in English, forcing Roberto to concentrate on what he was saying. "When the _gringos_ find out about you, they will bring soldiers to capture you. If they do not kill you, they will send you to prison. You should go. Hide. Change your name."

"You will see that _mi papi_ is buried well?"

Jorge nodded. "I will. We were friends for a long time."

Carefully, Roberto stood up. "Where should I go?"

"I cannot say." Jorge shrugged. "South, the _gringos_ will not be able to follow you over the border. But the cartels will want you to work for them. North, you may be able to hide. But you will need _dinero_, or else you will be dependent on others."

Roberto spat again, away from Jorge so as not to insult the man. A few of the 'bees' erupted from his fingertip, flew around his head, then vanished. "With these I could get _dinero."_

"You would be what the _gringos_ call a 'super-villain' then?" Jorge gave the term care in its pronunciation. "Using your powers for crime? Breaking the law?"

"Why not?" Roberto was speaking Spanish again, his words fast and angry. "An American killed my Dad. They would arrest me for killing _him._ Their laws did not do anything to help us in the conditions that Jenkinson had us working in. I invite them to go fuck themselves."

Jorge's nod was slow, non-judgemental. "It is not what I would do, but then, I have not just had my father killed. Go. We will be as stupid and uncomprehending as any group of ignorant workers could be. None of them will learn from us that you have gone north."

Taking the few steps to stand at his father's side, Roberto looked down at the still form. A vast and yawning gulf separated him from the man now, almost as wide as that which separated Roberto from the boy he had been just minutes before. It passed through his mind that the change in his life was absolute; never more would things be the same for him.

Kneeling down, he passed his hand over his father's face, not so much to close the already-shut eyes, but to achieve one last contact with normality. "_Vaya con Dios, papi,"_ he whispered.

Standing, he turned, started toward the road leading out of the cherry orchard. Wordlessly, one man stepped up to him, offered a scratched and battered plastic bottle full of water. A woman handed over a cloth bundle that smelled of bread. He reached into a basket and took out a handful of cherries, adding it to the bundle.

Jorge caught up with him, walked alongside for a moment. "I just wanted to wish you good luck," he told Roberto. "And that if you hadn't killed Jenkinson, I probably would have broken a stick over his head sooner or later anyway. That man was a swine."

"That's being insulting to swine." The reply was almost automatic.

"True." Jorge huffed a laugh. "Just remember, if you are going to be a super-villain, you will need to cover your face and make up a name for them to know you by."

"I know." Truth be told, Roberto hadn't thought anything of it up until now, but the fact was indeed self-evident. "And thank you."

He walked on, out toward the main road. Absently, he ate a cherry, spitting out the stone. _I will be a villain,_ he told himself. Thinking back to the yellow-and-black 'bees', he mulled over names. _Hive? No. Swarm? No._ It took him quite a while to come up with one that he liked.

-ooo-

* * *

**March 26, 1994  
New York City**

* * *

"Name?" The PRT officer wasn't quite bored, but he wasn't looking overly enthusiastic either.

Roberto cleared his throat. "My name is Aguijón."

"Agi-hon?" The officer frowned. "How do you spell that?"

Letter by letter, Roberto spelled it out. "It means 'stinger'."

"As in missile?"

"As in bee, _senór."_

"Ah. Right. Okay, yeah, I've got you here in the database." The PRT officer tapped keys. "Says here that you're a Blaster four. Well, let me tell you this now, Aguijon," he said, managing to mangle the name only slightly, "your power's gonna do exactly squat against the big guy. What's your range?"

"If I can see it, I can hit it," Roberto said; honesty forced him to add, "eventually. But I can make my attack move to hit a moving target. Dodging does not help. And with time I can create a moving, uh, cloud. Make it hard for the monster to see."

The PRT man shrugged. "Couldn't hurt. Just try not to hit anyone _but_ the Behemoth, okay?"

Roberto nodded seriously. "I will try."

He was still not sure what impulse had caused him to volunteer to join the fight when word came out that the Behemoth was due to hit New York. Part of him still remembered the dread that he had felt the morning that his father had died. Deep within him, some part of him still connected _El Gigante_ with his father's death.

_I must see the monster with my own eyes,_ he told himself. _I must know if it is truly that terrifying._

* * *

Three hours later, he knew.

He had tried; God alone knew how hard he had tried. But his biggest mass attack had counted as nothing against the unearthly hide of the monstrous creature. Swarming them around its head had done nothing to impair its knowledge of where its foes were, and had several times come close to striking airborne allies. So he was reduced to helping others.

Not that this was any easy task. Fire was everywhere, rubble littered the pavement, and Roberto thought that his ears might be bleeding from the intensity of the shattering noise produced by the monster. Along with some other low-powered parahumans, he had fallen back to 112th Street when the Behemoth had broken through the cordon. They had tried to do this in a measured and disciplined fashion. This had not translated well in what had become a war zone.

Half a fire truck flew overhead; he ducked instinctively, even though it would have missed him anyway. Fifty feet farther on, it struck, sending pieces flying in all directions. Most of it survived to wipe out a dozen shop-fronts. He grunted as he took up the weight of the semi-conscious PRT officer who had been directing his squad; he had no idea where the rest of his squad was.

He wanted to run, very badly. Run and run and never look back. Looking into what passed for a face on the Behemoth was something he had done for a very brief moment, but that moment had been enough. The creature _was_ that terrifying. It _was_ that unstoppable. If it did not signify the end of the world, he wasn't sure what would.

The aid station was only another block and a half. Roberto's muscles were already screaming from the exertion, but he would not quit. _This man, at least, will survive the apocalypse that has happened here._

-ooo-

* * *

**Saturday, April 9, 1994  
Bremond, Texas**

* * *

It was the noise of the hecklers that drew Roberto's attention. Once he got close enough to the meeting hall to read them, the crude flyers pasted to the noticeboard served to keep it.

**IS THE BEHEMOTH THE HARBINGER? IS THIS THE BEGINNING OF THE END?**

The words resonated to a question which had torn at him endlessly since New York, since he had begun to travel south once more, as a wounded animal will return to familiar surroundings. He pushed open the door to the hall and entered.

There were not all that many people in the crowd, but what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in noise. Every time the man on the stage tried to make a point, they yelled and jeered, apparently more interested in shouting him down than making points of their own. A few among them were trying to shout _them_ down, which was only adding to the overall din.

Ten months before, he would have turned and walked away. Prior to gaining his powers, Roberto Garcia had not liked conflict. Now, he still didn't necessarily _like_ it, but he could certainly deal with it. And he could deal it out in spades, if he had to.

Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his mask and donned it in one quick motion. He wanted to hear what the speaker had to say about _El Gigante,_ so this crowd had to be quieted or moved out first. And they were unlikely to listen to Roberto Garcia, Mexican migrant fruit picker. Aguijón, on the other hand, they would listen to.

It didn't take long to work his way around the side of the hall; nobody noticed him scrambling up on to the stage. They did notice him when he walked across to stand next to the speaker, a tall rawboned man with harsh features. The man looked at him and voiced a question, but Roberto didn't hear it because of the noise.

Reaching across, he took the microphone from the man. The racket was already starting to subside when he held up his hand and spoke. "Shut the fuck up. I want to hear this."

These weren't necessarily the best words with which to start; they sparked a vocal group, right at the front, who began hurling abuse and beer cans at him. Well, he knew how to deal with _that._

From his upraised hand, a swarm of his 'bees' sprang into existence. The flying beer cans were each struck by dozens of them, pockmarking the thin metal and deflecting them away from him. All except for one; that can still had most of its contents, trailing them in a thin stream as it flew at him.

The projectiles failed to deflect the can; it struck him in the forehead, beer splashing over his clothes before the can fell to the stage. He felt the pain, but it did not give him pause; it merely hardened his resolve.

From swarming before him, the tiny black and yellow projectiles darted down into the crowd. The shouts of derision turned to cries of pain as each of his 'bees' picked out someone who had thrown something. Tiny bloody pockmarks appeared on bare skin here and there. Roberto didn't know how painful it was – his 'bees' simply absorbed back into his skin when they struck him – but it certainly seemed to get their attention.

He spoke again, as the swarm built up before him. Real bees would have buzzed ominously; these were silent. Perhaps they were more frightening that way; the way those he had stung were screaming and fighting to get out of the exits, he supposed that it could be so. "As I said, shut. The. Fuck. Up. Let the man speak."

There was no more heckling, to be sure. Unfortunately, this was because there was no more crowd. The main door and both fire exits were wide open now, with people streaming out in what was only a hair short of full-blown panic. It was a good thing that there hadn't been more people in the hall; otherwise, someone may have been seriously hurt.

Silence fell as the last of them left. The tall man turned to Roberto. "Well, I suppose that's one way to do it." His voice was just as harsh as his features.

"I'm sorry." Roberto handed him back the microphone. "I just wanted them to be quiet so I could listen."

"Don't be." The man tilted his head toward backstage. "They will likely bring the authorities. I suspect you don't need that kind of attention. I doubt there were ten men there who were willing to hear what I had to say. _You_, on the other hand …"

The man was staring at him with a peculiar intensity; Roberto began to feel a little uncomfortable. "What?"

"You believe that the Behemoth is the herald of the end times, don't you?" The question was direct.

"I … do not _disbelieve_ it," Roberto answered. "I was in New York. What I saw there …"

The man was leading the way through the back of the building; Roberto followed. "I would be utterly fascinated to hear the full story," the man said, and Roberto believed him. "But for now, we need to talk elsewhere." He held out his hand. "Hadrian Lange."

Roberto shook it. "Aguijón."

"It's good to meet you, Aguijón." Lange gave him another penetrating stare. "I have a plan for the end times. Parahumans like yourself feature strongly in it. Would you like to hear about it?"

_He has a plan. Thank God __**somebody**__ does._ Roberto nodded. "Yes. Yes, I would."

* * *

"_Breeding_ parahumans?" Roberto wasn't quite sure if he'd heard right.

Lange nodded seriously. "Parahumans are the new force in the world today. If we are to survive the end times, we need as many as possible on our side. You're just the third one I've managed to recruit, after Sunstrike and Smasher." His gaze was penetrating, direct. "Becoming the father to the generation which will save our world is a huge responsibility. Are you up to it?"

Betty-Lou and Ellie-May, the two teenage girls to whom he had just been introduced, each smiled shyly at him, then giggled. He stared at them as the reality of the situation asserted itself. "You mean, I am to -"

"Yes." Lange's voice was matter-of-fact.

"And their parents -"

"Are fully on board with it," Lange assured him. He repeated his earlier words. "Are you up to it?"

Roberto swallowed; he felt that there was something off with the situation, but teenage hormones won out. "Uh, yes?"

The girls giggled again.

-ooo-

* * *

**Tuesday, May 17, 1994  
The Compound**

* * *

"When I found out about the other women, I was told that they were volunteers," Roberto confessed. "I only started to realise the truth a few days ago. I think Lange knows I do not like … _that."_

"Then help me," begged Kari. "Get me out of here."

"I _can't," _Roberto told her. "I am not as brutal as the others. They see me as the weak sister. If I was seen to be bringing you out, then they would stop us. They would probably kill me and recapture you."

"Then get me metal, any metal," Kari urged. "I … I don't want to use my powers, but I'll use them all day to escape here if I have to."

He took a deep breath. "I'll try. But they know about your powers, so they will be watching."

"Please." Her eyes were fixed on him. "Don't let them do this to me."

"I'll try," he said again. "But right now, I want you to scream."

"Scream?" she asked.

"Scream," he affirmed. Grabbing her hand, he twisted her wrist. She cried out in pain.

Belatedly catching on, she cried out again. "No, don't, stop!"

Letting go of her wrist, he slapped his hands together; she cried out again on cue.

* * *

When Roberto let himself out of Kari's cubicle, she was sobbing quite realistically into her pillow; as far as he could tell, she wasn't really acting. He made a show of adjusting his clothes as he closed the door; turning, he saw Sunstrike chatting to the guard in the corridor.

"Huh," said the older parahuman. "Didn't think you had it in you."

Roberto sneered at him. "There's a lot you don't know about me." He let a minor swarm of 'bees' escape his hand and swirl around his head.

"Hey, just saying." Roberto knew why Sunstrike wasn't pushing the issue; the man's powers depended on ambient light, and it wasn't very bright in the corridor. "Nicely done. You know how to treat a bitch, that's for sure."

"Just so long as you stay away from her." Roberto shouldered his way past the man. "Or she won't be the only bitch around here."

"Ooh." Sunstrike mimed fear, but there was wariness in his eyes. "Fine. I got the others, anyway."

_Yes, you do._ For just a moment, Roberto wanted to cut loose, to kill the guard and Sunstrike, to free the prisoners. But he wouldn't succeed and he knew it. Those captives who survived would be in worse straits than ever.

He had to wait, and plan, and close his eyes to the worst of the suffering. _I may be a villain, but this is monstrous. I need to save them all._

-ooo-

* * *

**Saturday, June 11, 1994  
The Compound**

* * *

Something odd was going on. Roberto had noticed the air of tension since breakfast. People were acting just a little strangely, as if they knew something that he didn't. The guards were a shade more tense, and he'd seen Sunstrike and Smasher in close conversation with Lange. But Lange hadn't called him over to join in the discussion, so Roberto figured that they didn't want him to know.

Whatever it was, it had to be big. But he didn't know what. And he couldn't just ask someone; to betray his ignorance when he was supposed to be one of the ones in the know would damage his image. People would look at him more closely.

On the other hand, right now they were somewhat distracted. He had a fork tucked into his sock; it had resided there for the past two days, except when he went in to visit Kari. He still didn't know how to get around the hand-held metal detector that the guard outside her room was equipped with.

_This might be my chance. If they're looking the other way …_

He wasn't quite sure what Kari could even do with a fork; it was cheap metal and bent easily, but she had asked for metal and so he had gotten her some metal. Now all he had to do was actually deliver it to her.

He pushed open the door to the building where the women were being kept. Every day he came here; every day it turned his stomach a little more. The main room was bright and airy, but to him it stank of squalor and degradation. For the past three weeks, he and Kari had been working to pull off the deception. He would visit her and they would make noises to suggest that the deed was being done, but all they did was talk in undertones. He hadn't even kissed her, although he desperately wanted to.

A deep and nagging guilt was burning inside him for that. He was attracted to her; of course he was. Sometimes, deep in the night, he would be struck by the temptation to actually do what Lange was expecting him to be doing with her. It wasn't as if anyone but Kari would object. And if he was gentle enough, perhaps she would want him to do it again …

As it was, he was still visiting his other 'girlfriends' as often as he thought he could manage without drawing comment. That was the only thing that allowed him to keep going, to keep him sane. But even then, there was the twinge of guilt, given that he was deceiving them in another way.

Some part of him wondered if the metal detector was just facilitating an excuse, if his real reason for not helping Kari to escape before this point was because he wanted her right there. If she remained a captive, the logic went, then maybe, possibly, she would accept her lot and let him have sex with her. But that would result in not only losing all trust she had in him, but also his own self-respect.

So he had decided to bite the bullet and help her escape. It was better than forever holding back for good reasons or bad, waiting for the perfect opportunity. _Today I get her out. Maybe._

He had half a plan put together for once they had gotten out of the building, a route that might possibly get them out the front gates, given a whole heap of luck.

Nodding to the guard at the entrance to the corridor, he went to move past him. "Going to see the Schultz girl."

To his surprise, the guard – a big, beefy hillbilly type with minimal neck and less in the way upstairs than most – put up a slab of a hand against his chest. "Nope."

"What?" Roberto stared at him. "Why?" For a frozen moment, he thought that they knew about the whole thing. Chills began to chase each other up and down his spine.

"'Cause Sunstrike's in there with her. Gotta wait your turn like ev'rybody else."

The chill down his spine turned into a full-blown ice-storm in his guts. "No."

A slow, decisive nod. "Yup."

And then he heard Kari scream.

He didn't even begin to think about what he was doing. Raising his hand, he sent a blast of 'bees' into the man's face; the big guy staggered back, clutching at his ruined flesh. Roberto dashed past him, heading for Kari's cubicle. She screamed for a second time as he reached the door. It didn't open; Sunstrike had obviously slid the latch across.

Lunging forward, he threw himself at the door. The cheap particulate board gave way and he stumbled into the room. Sunstrike looked around in annoyance; he was holding down Kari with one hand and pulling the remains of her shift off with the other. His pants were around his ankles; Roberto was already seeing far more of his anatomy than he'd ever wanted to see.

"For fuck's sake, junior, I thought you had her broken in," he snapped. "She's fighting like she's never had it before."

"Leave her alone." The tiny 'bees' were boiling from Roberto's hands, forming a swirling cloud around him. "Get away from her."

"Really? You do know that we've just been giving you the chance to be the first to put a bun in her oven." Sunstrike shook his head. "Move over, kid. Time to let the adults have their turn."

"I said _get away from her." _Roberto took a step closer.

Sunstrike straightened up, letting Kari go; she immediately scrambled as far away from him as the leash on her ankle would allow, pulling the sheet up to cover her body. The older villain sneered at Roberto, and the room darkened abruptly. "Make me."

_Fill the air between us with bees and jump sideways before he can fire, or just sting him where it'll really hurt?_ Roberto was suddenly aware that he faced a foe who knew his capabilities and was willing to kill him in order to get what he wanted. The one thing he knew he couldn't do was back down. _If I do, then he's free to do what he wants to Kari. I won't let that happen. I have to win this._

All of this passed through his mind in a split second; he tensed, and then the radio on Sunstrike's belt crackled. _"Sunstrike, Smasher, come in. It's happening now now now. Get outside!"_

For a long moment, it looked as though Sunstrike was going to ignore the radio call, but then light returned to the room. The villain pulled up his pants, fastening his belt. "Gotta go." He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "But next time you want to call me out … it'll be the last time."

With that, he was gone, out the door. Roberto pushed it to, suddenly aware that his knees were shaking. Droplets of sweat that he hadn't been aware of were running down his face.

"Oh god." Kari's voice was on the edge of hysteria. "Oh god."

Galvanised into action, he leaped to the side of her bed. "Are you all right? He didn't -"

"No." Her eyes were huge in her face. "But he was going to -" She burst into tears.

"Shh, shh, shh," he urged her. "Here, I got this for you." Bending, he pulled the fork from his sock.

She stared at it. "Is that -" Her hand darted out and took hold of it. "Metal! Thank you, thank you!"

As he watched, fascinated, it melted and reformed in her hand, into a short, wickedly serrated blade. Scrambling back down the bed, careful to hold the sheet over herself, she began to saw at the rope attaching her ankle cuff to the bed.

"Here, I'll help," he offered. Taking hold of the rope, he pulled it tight, to give her better purchase. With the other hand, he attacked the rope with a steady stream of his 'bees'. The nylon fibres were tough, and took their time parting; it didn't help that the knife kept losing its edge. However, between them, they had it cut in a matter of moments.

"What's going on?" she asked as she climbed off the bed. "Why did he leave?"

"I don't know," he replied, pulling off his jacket and handing it to her. She shrugged into it; he was tall for his age and she was somewhat petite, so it hung to mid-thigh on her. "They haven't told me anything."

"Well, let's go," she urged, her voice still teetering on the edge of hysteria. In her hand, the knife blade lengthened to something approximating a stiletto. "And if it looks like we can't get out … please … ?"

Unsure of what she meant, he blinked for a few seconds. She gestured with the knife at her own throat. "I don't want to live through what your boss has planned for me."

The penny dropped, but he didn't get the chance to react to the revelation. For the last minute or so, he'd been hearing the sound of a distant helicopter engine, but for one reason and another, he had not been paying a lot of attention. The room darkened dramatically, followed by the sound of an explosion. Kari and Roberto looked at each other. "Sunstrike," they said at the same time.

"If there's something going on," he went on, "this has got to be our best chance." He ducked out into the corridor, with her right behind him. There _was_ a door that led outside, bypassing the main room, but that was always locked from the outside to prevent opportunity escapes. Unlike the flimsy cubicle doors, this one was too sturdy to easily break. _So the main room it is._

With an agonised glance at the other cubicle doors – he had vowed to rescue them all, but right now was _right now,_ and if they stopped to release the other women, they might never get away – he led the way toward the main room.

There was a tremendous BOOOM and the building rocked on its foundations. Kari screamed and clutched at Roberto; he, in turn, grabbed for the wall. As they steadied themselves, he saw her mouth moving. Although temporarily deafened, he figured that she was asking, "what was that?"

"I don't know," he replied, augmenting the words with a shrug and spread hands. Turning back toward the main room, he stumbled on, his head still ringing from the tremendous noise.

Keyed up as he was for a fight, with 'bees' swirling around his hands, he was surprised to discover that there was nobody in the room when he got there. "Come on!" he shouted. "Let's go!" As an afterthought, he gestured forward.

At his gesture, Kari darted past him into the room. To his puzzlement, she fixated on a small card table and darted toward it. _What -?_

And then two large hands clamped on to his shoulders and he was lifted from the floor. He barely had enough time to think - _Smasher - _before he was hurled across the room. Fortunately, there was a folding chair there; he hit it, knocking it over backward and bending the frame before hitting the wall. Winded, he lay there, trying to figure out which way was up and how to breathe again.

Unable even to focus enough to use his projectiles – they had all dissipated when he hit the wall – he could only watch, through blurry vision, as Smasher approached Kari. She had been busy in the few seconds since entering the room; the top of the small table now lay on the floor, as she held a lump of reforming aluminium. As he watched, it lengthened and sharpened to become a spear.

Smasher said something, but Roberto didn't quite catch it, even though his hearing was improving, as there was a burst of gunfire from outside that drowned out the villain's words. Kari, her face desperate, jabbed her improvised weapon at him. He caught it and tried to yank it from her hands; however, the metal stretched and oozed out from between his fingers like putty. In the meantime, the butt end flicked around like something alive, growing a razor-sharp blade as it did so. It slashed at Smasher's legs, but only managed to open very shallow cuts.

A look of astonishment on his face, Smasher glanced down, just as the blade made a try for his groin. He knocked it aside, then stepped up to her in one long stride. His hand wrapped around her throat. Much as he had with Roberto, he lifted her off the ground, but there seemed the distinct possibility that he would not be putting her down alive.

How he managed it, Roberto would never know. But he managed to lever himself up off the floor and lunge across the room. Leaping into the air, he clawed his way on to Smasher's back and clamped his hands over the stone-skinned man's eyes.

Then he unleashed his 'bees'.

Smasher screamed, a deep long bellow, as he released Kari and reached up to wrench Roberto's hands from his eyes. Roberto kept the swarm coming, attacking Smasher's eyes and now-open mouth, streaming up his nostrils. There was a horrible crunching, as pain lanced up both of Roberto's arms; Smasher had _squeezed, _breaking the bones in both hands like cheese sticks.

As he was thrown to the floor, discarded like a rag doll, Roberto tried to focus, to keep the 'bees' coming. They were still attacking Smasher as he loomed over Roberto, one massive foot raised to crush the teenager into the floorboards. But it never came down.

Gradually teetering backwards, Smasher landed on the floor with an impact quite appropriate to his name. Standing over him, Kari retracted the aluminium tentacles from his ears; she was shaking, her face white, but there was a determination, a strength, in her eyes. _She killed him,_ Roberto realised vaguely. _She stabbed him in the brain._

Boots thundered down the corridor; three of Lange's men burst into the room. Their rifles – legally-bought civilian versions of military assault weapons, reworked quite illegally to fire fully automatic – tracked in on Kari. "Drop it bitch!" yelled the first man.

"Or we drop _you!"_ the second added, just as loudly.

The third headed for Roberto. "Are you all right?" he asked, extending a hand down to help him up.

Kari was not going to surrender, Roberto realised. She was going to make the men shoot her down. He didn't blame her in the slightest; while he hadn't been able to help the other women, and had very little idea of what they were actually going through, he still knew that he wouldn't want to face the same fate in their shoes. Which was looming large in her future, if she lived through the next thirty seconds.

The outside door was kicked in. The man standing over Roberto brought his rifle to bear, as did one of those on Kari. The third kept his eyes, and his weapon, trained upon her. She didn't drop the metal as she also turned to look at the door.

The man who stepped inside wasn't armed; that was the only thing that saved him from being shot. His right arm dangled uselessly at his side, while his left cradled a woman, her head lolling against his chest. While he was broader than any of the other men in the room, no pipsqueaks themselves, the woman was remarkably slender, which was probably the only reason he could carry her in such a fashion. Both wore uniforms of some sort, but between the dirt, the smoke and the blood, Roberto could not make out which branch of the military they were from, let alone rank insignia.

"Hey, soldier boy," snapped one of the guards. "Turn around slow, or get shot."

The big man nodded, turning slowly to his left. As he did so, the woman's head came up. So did her right hand, which had been previously hidden by her body. In it was a small pistol. Before either Roberto or the guards could properly register that the weapon even existed, three shots sounded. All three men dropped, neat holes now decorating the bridges of their noses. The pistol swung toward Roberto, but Kari, jolted to action, shouted, "No!"

For a long moment, Roberto looked Death in the eye. As small as it was, that pistol barrel looked amazingly large to him. Then the gun was raised again. Other men, bruised and bloodied, stumbled in behind the first one; the door was slammed and a heavy chair pushed against it.

"_Dios mio," _marvelled Roberto. "Who _are_ you people?"

"Captain Snow, PRT," the woman told him, in a voice made husky with pain. "This is Sergeant Kinsey." She favoured him with a dry look from behind her glasses, one lens of which was cracked. The look told him that she knew exactly how dire their situation was. It also told him that she was not one to let the odds bother her. "Congratulations. You're rescued."

* * *

End of Part 5-2


	34. Chapter 34

\o/

**Recoil**

* * *

Part 5-3: Combat Rescue

* * *

**Taylor**

* * *

I awoke to pain. Lots and lots of pain. Acrid smoke stung my nostrils and lungs, and I heard crackling flames. "Wake up, ma'am!" Kinsey yelled in my ear. "We have to move! Now-now-now!"

"Urgh," I mumbled. The smoke irritated my throat and I tried to cough. The vague pain that I'd been feeling previously turned into an excruciating explosion of jagged pain throughout my abdomen.

_He's right, _Lisa told me. _The chopper's due to explode in … two minutes and forty-three seconds. Now open your damn eyes and undo your seat harness so Kinsey can rescue you. It's his turn, after all._

There was something odd about that, but I couldn't focus on it. I forced my eyes open and regretted it; the smoke attacked them at once, making them sting and tear up. We'd trained for this; I blinked away the tears and found the seat harness release. It hurt to move my arm, but I activated the release anyway; the straps fell away.

Kinsey caught me as I slid sideways out of my seat. The smoke made me cough again, and I bit back a groan as the pain lanced through me again. That wasn't a bruise, or even a cracked sternum; I wondered how badly I was _really_ hurt.

-ooo-

_The classroom was clean and white and pristine, in direct contrast to the interior of the helicopter. In the back of my mind, I could feel myself being manhandled by Kinsey, lying on his back and holding me to his chest as he pushed himself along with his boots._

_At the front of the classroom, Lisa stepped up to a large round metal plate set in the floor. She wore a white lab coat and a pair of absurdly cute librarian glasses. With a click, a hologram was projected upward from the plate. It was of me, in living colour. Blood was splattered over my uniform here and there; as the hologram slowly rotated, I could see rents and tears in my clothing._

_**Okay, **__I said dubiously. __**That doesn't look good.**_

"_It's not," she told me. Picking up a remote, she clicked a button. The uniform was gone in an instant, showing the wound in my abdomen. Another click stripped away the skin, then major muscle groups. "As you can see, the broken off strut punched through your vest a little under your breastbone, skimmed past your heart, pierced your right lung, and came up hard against your ribcage."_

_**So it's still in me. **__I tried to come to terms with that. __**Am I gonna die?**_

"_It will kill you eventually if you're not treated, yes," she confirmed. "But right now, it's preventing too much blood loss. Also, you have a broken leg and a badly wrenched shoulder. But even if you could walk, I'd advise you not to. Flexing your torso as little as possible is also a good idea."_

_**Yeah, got that,**__ I murmured dryly.__** Two more questions. What shape's Kinsey in, and how am I able to talk to you? I'm awake.**_

"_Last question first, you're only semi-conscious," Lisa corrected me. "You're right on the edge, and it's kind of important, so I'm making more of an effort than normal." She pushed up her glasses with a finger. "And Kinsey has a broken arm, but otherwise he's just banged about a bit. Walsh bought it when Sunstrike shot us down, and the pilots were killed in the crash."_

_**Fuck,**__ I muttered. __**Options?**_

-ooo-

I could feel myself being jostled more, with agony lancing through my torso with each jolt. The classroom began to fade away, replaced by reality. Kinsey was getting to his feet, assisted by Hanran. Rodriguez was bending over me.

"Chopper's gonna blow," I mumbled.

"What? What was that?" He raised his head. "She's awake again."

I steeled myself and spoke more loudly, wincing at the pain. "Chopper's gonna explode. Now. Cover."

Hanran looked around. "What was that about the chopper?"

"She says it's going to explode."

Kinsey was on his feet by now. "If the Captain says it's going to explode, we need to move. _Now."_

In two long strides, he was beside me, lifting me carefully with his one good arm. Wordlessly, Rodriguez assisted him from the other side. I didn't know how much of the two minutes and forty-three seconds we had left, but I did my best to assist. Unfortunately, my best wasn't very good at that moment.

We had only just made it around the corner of the nearest building before the helicopter did indeed explode, the fuel taking any ordnance with it when it went. The detonation was impressive, even from behind cover; Hanran stumbled and went to his knees, along with Rodriguez. The only reason that I didn't follow them was that Kinsey was supporting me. The building next to us boomed and shuddered dramatically, while flaming debris flew past, just yards away.

Hanran was just getting to his feet when Kinsey shoved me into the arms of the FBI man. I clutched feebly at Hanran, not wanting to find out how much a fall would exacerbate my injuries, while trying to figure out what Kinsey was up to. However, I wasn't kept in suspense for long; while my ears were still ringing too badly to hear the rasp of Kinsey's hand-cannon clearing its holster, I would have had to be profoundly deaf to not hear it being fired at close range.

He fired three times; I managed to get my head around far enough to see a man fall, and another spin back behind cover. A third already lay unmoving in the dirt.

"There'll be more," he stated grimly. "We need an exit plan, and we need it fast. Captain?"

Brutally, I shoved down my whirling thoughts, the dizziness, the pain. I had studied the layout enough from the air that I knew where we were in the compound. Unfortunately, this spelled out for me exactly how screwed we really were.

"Too far from the gate," I managed in a breathy rasp, trying not to cough. "Be picked off before we get halfway there. Surrender makes us hostages or shot on sight." I raised my uninjured arm and pointed at a building. "The prisoners are in there. We secure that and execute Plan Bravo."

"Yes, _ma'am." _Kinsey handed off his pistol to Hanran and scooped me up with his one good arm. "Can you shoot, ma'am?"

I edged my one good arm down to where my Glock was holstered and pulled the pistol out. It only hurt a little, rather than a whole lot. I nodded, holding the small pistol in my lap. "I can, Sergeant."

"Wait, we're going to assault that building?" Rodriguez was obviously unhappy with the plan. "We don't know who's in it."

"We _do_ know who's out here," Kinsey told him flatly. "Our current position is untenable. The Captain's given an order. I'm following it. Hanran?"

Hanran hefted the heavy pistol in two hands. He'd been out of the field too long, I figured. Too long driving a desk. He didn't look in the least bit happy. But at least he had no quit in him. The look he gave Kinsey held more than a little fear, but it also held determination. "I'm with you."

"Good. Let's go."

Kinsey obviously had an idea of how bad my injuries were; he didn't run across the intervening distance, but instead covered it with long loping strides. I was still jolted, with sharp spikes of pain slashing across my nervous system, but my brain didn't white-out with the pain. At least, not quite. Hanran followed close behind, watching our flanks with the massive pistol held two-handed and low; Rodriguez hesitated for a long moment, then ran to catch up.

As he reached the door to the building, Kinsey didn't hesitate; he swivelled on one foot and delivered a massive kick with the other. The door burst open and he kept going straight in, moving more sideways than forwards. He was looking backward over his shoulder to see what Hanran and Rodriguez were doing, while trusting me to clear the room.

There were three men with guns, a teenage girl wearing a yellow and black jacket and holding a metal spear, and two men lying on the floor. One, huge and bulky, was ominously still. The second one was barely out of his teens, and wore a white T-shirt and pants with yellow and black stripes.

I had hold of the pistol, but my angle was awkward. While I could take out one of the guards, the other two would open fire and I wouldn't be able to target them easily. And I didn't know _what_ the kid in yellow and black would do, so I'd have to neutralise him fast as well.

The rifles came up. "Hey, soldier boy," one of the guards said. "Turn around slow or get shot."

Kinsey did exactly as he was told, bringing the other two targets into my line of fire. I raised my head and brought up the pistol at the same time.

_Four targets, close range, unmoving._ I had shot perfect scores on targets, X-ring hits every time, at several times this distance. The few times I'd had to use weapons in the field, in anger, I'd hit what I'd aimed at.

Back then, of course, I hadn't felt like every square inch of me had been pulped by a baseball bat. And I'd been the one to catch _them_ by surprise.

All of this passed through my mind in an instant, even as I opened fire. Left to right, servicing targets with never more than a passing qualm that I was ending human lives here. Firing just as fast as I could, the little pistol's tiny felt-recoil still managing to jar me painfully, one shot per target. But the long hours on the target range were paying off; they made fast, accurate shooting into something as nearly instinctive as handling millions of bugs had once been for me.

Kinsey was obviously unarmed; they had started to lower their rifles. This, and the fact that they didn't have military readiness drilled into them, was what doomed them. I killed two of them, with picture-perfect shots to the bridge of the nose, before the third even began to react. I shot him before his rifle was halfway toward horizontal, then swung my sight picture on to the kid on the floor, already beginning to take up pressure on the trigger.

"No!" shouted the girl with the spear. She was just in time; an instant later, and I would have taken up final pressure and the boy would have died. For a long moment, I strongly considered firing anyway; he was an unknown quantity, a bad thing to have in the same room as us. But then it occurred to me that the girl was wearing a jacket far too large for her, that it was a match for his costume. _He gave it to her. There's more going on here than I know about._ I raised the pistol.

Hanran and Rodriguez stumbled into the room behind us; without needing to be told, they slammed the door shut and began dragging a heavy chair in front of it. _Good. We need to secure the building._

"_Dios mio," _the boy on the floor said in tones of awe. "Who _are_ you people?"

"Captain Snow, PRT. This is Sergeant Kinsey." I gave him a closer look. From the girl's attitude toward him, and his attitude toward us, I mentally assigned him a nominal tag of 'potential friendly'. _Of course, a little reinforcement of that attitude never hurts. I want him in no doubt that we're ten feet tall and bulletproof._ "Congratulations. You're rescued."

* * *

**Emily**

* * *

Lieutenant Emily Piggot, of the Parahuman Response Teams, stepped up to the entrance of the command tent. One of the two guards on duty there moved to bar her way. "No entry," he said flatly. "Orders."

Emily measured him with her eyes. "I need to get in there right now," she stated. "Do you know why I need to get in there right now?" Without giving him a chance to answer, she forged on. "Because our command and control just went down behind enemy lines, and _I don't see anyone going in there to get them out."_

From within the tent, she could hear raised voices. "We have _orders," _repeated the guard.

Emily stared him in the eye. "You hear what they're doing in there? They're _arguing_ instead of doing something _useful."_ Turning, she gestured toward the compound in the distance. "And meanwhile, in there, one of the finest military minds of our generation is at the mercy of a bunch of racist redneck _rapists."_

Her words hung in the air for a long moment. The guards began to look uncomfortable. Finally, the other one cleared his throat. "I, uh, I can escort you in, ma'am," he offered.

"Good," she said. "You _do_ that." Without waiting for an answer, she moved past him and into the tent.

Within wasn't quite the chaos she expected, but it was almost as bad. Five people were arguing around the map table. Or rather, four people were arguing and the fifth was being shouted down. Around the periphery, junior officers attended to their superiors, but their expressions were telling. It wasn't going well.

All heads turned as she entered. One of the men, wearing a National Guard uniform, stepped forward. "What the hell?" he demanded. "I gave orders -"

"Sir!" Emily went to attention and saluted. Automatically, he returned it. "Sir, I'm here to ask a question. What's the status of the rescue mission?"

"That's above your pay grade, lieutenant -"

Stepping forward, she got right in his face. _"The hell it is,_ captain," she hissed. "We have seven people down behind enemy lines, and you REMFs are arguing over who's in charge, so you can present your own pet plan for saving the day."

All eyes widened at the pejorative term; the captain began to turn red. "Now listen here -"

"No, _you_ listen." Emily knew that her military career was more or less over, but she spoke over him anyway. "The more you _fucking argue,_ the more chance that your _commanding officers_ are being slaughtered not one mile from here. Now, pick a plan." She picked out the one PRT captain by eye. "Sir. Does your plan involve going in there and kicking ass till we get our people back?"

The captain raised his head. "Yes, lieutenant, it does."

"Good." She pointed at him and spoke to the rest of the officers in the tent. "I like his plan. He's in charge."

The National Guard captain raised his voice. "Lieutenant, you're out of order. Corporal, arrest the -"

Emily had had enough. As the corporal put his hand on her shoulder, she turned and drove her elbow back as hard as she could, catching him on the point of the jaw. Caught by surprise, he collapsed; as he did so, she took his rifle from him. The clatter of the soldier falling to the floor was louder than the _clack-clack_ as Emily pulled back the bolt of the rifle and chambered a round, but the latter was what got their attention.

"_One. More. Time." _Her voice was low but deadly. She kept the muzzle of the rifle down, pointed at the floor, but the implicit threat was still clear. "The PRT is taking lead on this." She nodded to the PRT captain. "Sir. Your plan?"

He looked back at her with an unreadable expression, then seemed to come to a decision. "Yes." Raising his voice he called out. "Guard!"

Emily tensed as the second guard pushed his way into the tent. The man's eyes widened as he took in the man on the floor, who was just now starting to groan his way back to coherence. He began to raise his rifle.

"Never mind that," the PRT captain snapped. "Gather the troops. We've got a lot to do, and not much time to do it in." He glanced at Emily. "Lieutenant. Will you peacefully surrender yourself to my custody?"

Emily shifted the rifle to her left hand and came to attention; her salute was parade-ground perfect. "Sir."

* * *

**Taylor**

* * *

As Hanran pulled the shutters closed, I gestured with the pistol toward the corridor that led out of the room. "What's down there? Another entry point?"

"Uh, yes," blurted the girl. She pointed at the rifles that the guards had been holding. "Uh, can I -"

For a moment, I wasn't sure what she wanted, then I twigged. Going by the spear, she was able to manipulate metal by touch. _She wants the gun for its metal._ "Sure, but just one." Neither Kinsey nor I was able to use one at the moment, but Hanran and Rodriguez were still able-bodied.

Both men were staring at me. "What do we do now?" asked Rodriguez. "We're trapped in here."

"First thing," Hanran told him. "We secure the entry points. Give me a hand with that chair."

The girl shook her head. "I got this." She discarded her spear and picked up the closest rifle by its barrel. Instinctively I winced and went to correct her weapon handling technique, but before I could speak, the rifle seemed to melt. The metal flowed up around her hands, covering them like gloves and spreading into the sleeves of the jacket. Letting the wooden stock and the cartridges fall to the floor, she turned and headed for the corridor entrance.

_Why didn't she use the bullets as well?_ But that was something I'd have to find out later. "Hanran," I said. "Go with her."

Despite the fact that he technically outranked me, he obeyed at once. Rodriguez picked up one of the other two rifles, but didn't seem to be sure of what to do with it. I looked at him. "You okay, sir?"

The question seemed to come as a surprise. "I don't know," he admitted. "I was so sure we could talk this down to a peaceful conclusion."

I grimaced. "Never underestimate the power of a fanatic to make a situation worse."

"But what can we _do?"_ he asked, perhaps rhetorically. "You and the Sergeant are hurt. We're not -"

* * *

**Kari**

* * *

Kari glanced back at the grey-haired man called Hanran. "You're a bit old to be a soldier. And you're not wearing a uniform."

He had a nice smile, she decided. Like a favourite uncle. "I'm not a soldier. FBI. We're here to get you out."

She decided that his statement was more in the 'hopeful' range than anything to rely on. "Is that a bullet-proof vest? Does it have metal in it?"

"Yes it is," he replied. "But no, it – get down!"

Raising the big pistol he was still carrying in two hands, he aimed it at her. _No – at the door._ Letting out a squeak of terror, she fell to her knees, clamping her hands over her head. The gun went off twice, the flash blinding her and the report setting her ears to ringing. As if in slow motion, she saw the shiny brass cartridge-cases bouncing on the floor near Hanran's feet.

When she looked around, there were two ragged holes in the sturdy door, which was standing just a little bit open. Hanran strode past her and shoved it shut, then leaned against it. "Hey."

She shook her head, trying to dispel the ringing.

"Hey! Girl! What's your name?"

She blinked at him. "Me?"

"Yes, you. What's your name?"

"Uh, Kari?"

"Well, uh-Kari, I think it's time for you to do whatever you were going to do with that metal."

"Oh. Right." She got to her feet. Pushing her hands against the edge of the door, she made the metal flow off of her, drilling into the wood, bridging the gap. In moments, the door was as solidly shut as it would ever be.

"Is everything all right down there, sir?" It was the burly soldier, the one called Sergeant Kinsey.

"We're fine, but they know we're in here now," Hanran called back. He turned to Kari. "That's a very useful trick with the metal. Know where you can get some more?"

She didn't even have to think about it. "Yes."

* * *

**Lange**

* * *

Hadrian Lange looked up from the hand-drawn map detailing the defences of the compound, his eyebrows drawing down. "Say that again?"

"Th-that chopper that crashed," stammered the militia man, holding a bloodied hand to his shoulder. His right arm hung uselessly at his side. "Some of 'em got out. They're in the Breeding House. We went to go in there, they shot at us through the door. Clive's dead." His backwoods accent made the word sound like 'daid'. "My brother's dead."

"Say the word and I'll go take care of them." Sunstrike's tone was vicious.

"No." Lange shook his head. "We need you to keep their flyers and choppers honest." He turned to the wounded militia man. "Ben. Take a dozen men and get that building back. Take Seth, too. You might need his door-buster charges."

Ben rolled his eyes. "Why do we have to use those damn things? He always makes 'em too powerful."

Lange took a step toward him. _"Because I said so." _The look in his deep-set eyes promised dire retribution if his words were not obeyed; Ben flinched, but hesitated before leaving.

"What?" Lange's voice was even more dangerous.

"Uh, what about the breeders?"

The rawboned man spent barely a second thinking about it. "Try not to kill 'em, but if it happens, it happens. If they're loose and fighting back, kill 'em all the same."

"Right. Right." Ben made his escape.

Lange turned his attention back to the map. "All right then. Does anyone have any new information on what they have out there?"

* * *

**Taylor**

* * *

"Fuck," muttered Rodriguez. "Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. We're in the shit now."

"We've been in the shit since the chopper went down," I reminded him, being careful to breathe shallowly. "The depth has varied, is all."

"If we gave ourselves up -" he began.

Kinsey interrupted him. "No," he growled. _"Not_ happening."

"But we could negotiate -"

"Being in the power of these people is not a good negotiating position," I told him flatly.

"Well, right now, we're not in a great position either," he reminded me. "How are we going to hold them off? There's only four of us, you and the Sergeant are the only ones with current military training, and you're both injured!"

"Six," offered the kid. He'd sat up, but no more than that. Now that I looked at him more carefully, I realised that there was something wrong with his hands. "There are six of us."

"Six, then," Rodriguez muttered. "Two parahumans, four normals, two injured. Against everything that's out there. Those are _shit_ odds."

"Getting better all the time, I'd say," declared Hanran, emerging from the corridor. The person who came out next _wasn't_ the girl with the metal manipulation. _Oh wait, of course. This is where the prisoners were being held._ I was seriously annoyed with myself for forgetting that, however temporarily. Of course, I'd had several other things on my mind, but the welfare of the girls being held here should have been higher on the agenda.

The woman who exited the corridor behind Hanran had to stand at least seven feet tall; she had long brown hair that hung in limp rat-tails. One hand was being used to hold a stained sheet around her body. I recognised her from the dossier I had perused; her name was Joanna or Joanne. From the description, she held a medium to high Brute rating, or she would have if the PRT was assigning those to non-villains yet. I could well believe it; I was taller than most women and more than a few men of my acquaintance, and she beat me out by at least a foot. In bulk, she made Kinsey look almost puny, which was a very impressive feat.

For a moment, she looked taken aback, given the four corpses on the floor. Then she strode up to the big stone-skinned guy – I still wasn't sure what had killed him, save that there was blood coming from the ears, and his eyes were a gory mess – and kicked him, very hard, in the head. The corpse was shunted sideways, turning almost ninety degrees, from the force of the kick. I thought I heard bone snap, and I was pretty sure it wasn't hers.

"What the fuck?" Rodriguez turned from where he'd been peering out through a gap in the shutters and brought the rifle up instinctively. "Who the hell are you?"

"Stand down," I ordered the both of them. "Rodriguez, she was a prisoner. Joanna …?"

"Joanne," she corrected me. Her voice wasn't as deep as I'd thought it might be. "They fucking fed me a knockout drop to get me here. Chained me to a metal bed. _This _fucker …" She shuddered. "I swore if I ever got loose, I'd never let them take me alive again."

"I won't let them take you at all," I promised her. "We're here to get you out, and that's what's going to happen."

"Big words," she muttered. "Two old guys, a couple of hurt soldiers, and some punk in stripey pants. How you gonna pull that off?"

I answered her question with one of my own. "Are you bullet-proof?"

"What the hell sort of question is that?" She pointed at herself. "How the _fuck_ do you find that out without using a gun? Shoot yourself and then find out, sorry, you're not _really_ bullet-proof after all, it just felt like you should be?"

She had a point. I had only found out that my spider-silk armour was good against pistols the hard way, and even then I had initially thought that Coil had really shot me. It certainly wasn't an experiment I was going to try _willingly._

On the other hand, she was certainly very strong, and also rather durable, given that she'd kicked him with her bare foot and not shown any signs of pain. The beginnings of a plan began to unfold in my head.

"Understood," I replied. "Captain Snow, PRT. This is Sergeant Kinsey, that's Rodriguez of the ATF, and I didn't catch your name, kid."

The boy looked up at me. He was holding his hands loosely in his lap; they were starting to swell and turn blotchy. "Aguijón. It means 'bee-sting', or 'stinger'." His voice was strained; I figured that whatever had happened to his hands had to be painful.

"Bee-sting, huh?" Despite my own problems, I found it hard not to smile. _An insect-themed cape … what are the odds?_ "Do you control bugs?"

"No." He raised his hand fractionally. A couple of tiny yellow and black objects about the size of the tip of my little finger appeared from his hand. "I make these." The 'bees' orbited him a few times, then ended their journey by smacking into the floorboards, where they seemed to do a little bit of damage.

"Shit, you're one of _them."_ Joanne was across the room in about three strides. "I heard your name a few times. You're gonna _die,_ asshole." Her hand went around his throat and she effortlessly lifted him clear off the ground in one move.

"No!" I shouted, but she ignored me. Her hand began to close; I could see his face purpling. I doubted that my Glock would make an impression on her, and Rodriguez seemed to be frozen to the spot. I could kind of understand this; if she _was _bullet-proof, then shooting at her would be a really bad move. But I couldn't just let her murder Aguijón, especially if he was innocent of what she was implying, which the other girl's behaviour seemed to indicate. "Joanne! Stop!"

She paused, looking over her shoulder at me. "You don't have the _right _to tell me to stop. You don't know what this asshole's done."

"Has he done it to _you?"_ I didn't know the answer, but I could guess at it. _Please let me be right._

"No," she admitted reluctantly, "but I know he's been in with Kari a lot. He makes her cry. Well, no more." She turned her attention back to Aguijón. "Be glad I'm gonna make it quick."

"He never touched me!"

The metal-manipulator's voice came from the corridor. She was carrying another girl in her arms; I could see grimy bandages around the girl's ankles. I didn't have time to wonder about that as Kari – as I presumed her name to be – stepped aside to let the other girls out of the corridor. No-one else was lame, although they were all wearing bed-sheets as makeshift clothing.

Two had bandages over their eyes, and were being led by two others. The last had a kind of smoky-grey appearance, becoming almost translucent as she stepped into the main room. Her sheet, where she had it wrapped tightly around herself, took on some of this quality. _The Stranger, I'd say. _Apart from the smoky girl, they all looked relatively normal, if one discounted the bandages, the unwashed hair, and the bruises both faded and fresh.

However, Kari – as I surmised her name to be – wasn't wearing a sheet. Nor was she wearing Aguijón's jacket. What she _was_ wearing looked to be about half a ton of steel. Or at least, there was a human-shaped steel statue in the corridor. Kari had to be wearing it or controlling it; either way suited me just fine. It also, not coincidentally, took care of step one of the plan. _Get some metal to the girl._

"What the fuck?" asked Joanne. "Are you honestly _defending_ this piece of slime?"

Kari carefully set down her burden and stepped forward. The floorboards creaked alarmingly, but held; I guessed that if they hadn't given way under the stone-skinned Brute, they wouldn't give way under Kari's new accoutrement. "He never touched me. Let him go." I figured that she was trying for a firm tone, but didn't seem to know how. _I might have to give her pointers in that._ However, it wasn't really necessary; wearing an entire Renfaire's worth of steel plate gave her words a certain amount of weight. So to speak.

I was beginning to get concerned about Aguijón's chances of survival. Joanne hadn't let him down or relaxed her grip, and his face was a really worrying shade of puce. "Let him down," I told her. "Don't kill him until you can prove he did something. Do you really want to murder an innocent man?"

Joanne ground her teeth together. "None of these bastards are innocent," she gritted. "He's here, isn't he? Guilty by association."

I never saw the metal tentacle lash out, but it wrapped around Joanne's arm and yanked hard. Startled, Joanne lurched backward, losing her grip on Aguijón's throat. He fell to the floor, hacking and choking as he tried to inhale much-needed air. _Well, that answers the question about how good she is with her power._

"_He didn't touch me."_ This time, her delivery was much better. The inches-thick metal tentacle that had sprouted from her right shoulder was still wrapped around Joanne's forearm.

Joanne grabbed the tentacle and yanked on it, hard. Caught off guard, Kari stumbled forward, even as she instinctively grew metal spars that braced against the floor, preventing her from falling headlong. Keeping her grip, Joanne heaved harder, but this time, Kari was ready for her. The metal stretched, the length of tentacle whipping back around to rejoin with the main mass. Joanne was unready for this, just as she was caught by surprise when the metal reformed to encase her hands and forearms.

In that moment of silence, we all heard the sound of someone outside fumbling with the door.

* * *

**Ben**

* * *

The seven men sidled up to the Breeding House as stealthily as they could. Ben's shoulder was swathed in bloodstained bandages, the arm supported by a rough sling. Seth's crew was around at the far end, where the door to the corridor let out. The plan was to set the bombs on the doors, then drop back and let the timers tick down.

Each of the six men with Ben was armed and ready for action; once they burst in, the stunned intruders would be easy pickings. Ben carried the home-made breaching charge in his one good hand. As hampered as he was, he didn't trust it with any of the other men.

"Dang it," muttered one of the others, Travis by name. "They closed the dang shutters."

Ben didn't qualify that with a reply, both because he didn't think it deserved one and because it was what he would've done. _Though I woulda knocked a few slats out so I could see properly._

"Why don't we jes' start shootin'?" asked Jesse, the youngest of the men that Ben had picked. "Our bullets'll go right on through."

"An' right on out th' other side," Ben muttered. "'Less you wanna explain ta Mr Lange how you was shootin' at our own men?"

It was unfair, Ben decided. The people inside didn't have to worry about hitting friendlies. Him and his buddies did. But he was gonna get revenge for Clive anyways. That was for certain sure.

With a gesture, he quieted their voices. Moving even more carefully, he eased up alongside the steps rather than put a foot on them. They had a bad habit of squeaking loudly at the best of times. This was not the best of times.

Reaching across, he hefted the door-buster in his good hand, trying to hang it off of the door handle. His arm shook with the strain as he did his best to flip the loop of cord over the handle. And then the inevitable happened; the breaching charge rubbed against the door, making a distinctive scraping sound.

Ben froze; for a long moment, he waited for the shout of alarm from within. But none came. He started to move again …

* * *

**Taylor**

* * *

Kinsey turned; I raised my pistol, although I couldn't see anything to shoot at. In any case, I wasn't optimistic at the chances of the bullet punching through the heavy timber doors. Hanran took a step forward, Kinsey's pistol in his hands. I winced, knowing exactly how loud that thing was at close quarters. He fired three times, spacing the shots across the door. There were yells and screams from outside.

As if by unspokent agreement, Kari released Joanne's hands, sending a spike of steel across the room. It jammed into the floor in front of the door, then spread upward, drilling into the wood for purchase. When she pulled the metal tentacle back, she left behind a solid-looking bracket holding the door well and truly closed.

"In case you hadn't realised," I began. The rest of my speech would have been a fairly predictable _we're all in this together, so for fuck's sake don't fight between yourselves, _but I never got to finish it. A giant hand picked us all up and threw us against the wall instead. The last thing I was consciously aware of was Kinsey twisting in midair, trying to take the impact in my place. I felt a red-hot tearing inside me, and passed out.

* * *

**Kinsey**

* * *

Sergeant James McMartin Kinsey slowly recovered his wits. He was half-lying against the wall, still cradling Captain Snow with his good arm. _Explosives, _he realised dully. _They set a charge on the far end of the building while decoying us at this end. Used too much._ His head throbbed atrociously, and he wasn't sure if he could move.

Looking down at the Captain, he cursed weakly; the bloodstain on her abdomen was wider than it had been before, and the blood looked fresher. Worse, her head was lolling to one side, while a trickle of blood ran out of the corner of her mouth. Her chest still rose and fell though, so she was still alive. _I don't know for how much longer, though. Especially if we can't get her to medical attention._

Setting his jaw, he tried to struggle to his feet, but failed. There was something wrong with his legs, or maybe his back. He took a deep breath, which hurt – _busted ribs, probably – _and looked around, taking stock. Hanran was down; Kinsey eyed the bloodstain spreading across the man's chest and grimaced. _He was a good man, for a Feeb._ Rodriguez, on the other hand, was just now climbing to his feet, shaking his head.

_Who else?_ Kinsey turned his head, trying to ignore the sharp pain that resulted. People were down, he could see. The Mexican cape was groggily sitting up, along with a couple of the girls. Others were ominously still.

As the ringing in his ears eased off a little, he could hear shouts, screams and the sound of gunfire. A bullet smacked into the wall not altogether far from his head, and he looked around. He could see right down the corridor to … smoke and dust. _End of the building's gone. Fuck. Surprised we're alive. Why aren't they in here already?_

His head cleared a little more, and he realised that the really big woman and the metallokinetic were both gone. _Must be holding them back. I need … I need … _His initial instinct to be out there and causing trouble for the bad guys waned as he recalled Captain Snow's injuries. _I need to stay here and make sure she gets medical attention._ Besides, he wasn't sure what sort of difference he could make, right now.

The girl with the bandages on her ankles crawled across to him. She seemed to move almost in stop-motion; it took her no more than a second to cross the room, but she seemed to blur between distinct points on the way. He wasn't sure whether it was a power that she was manifesting or a symptom of how badly he was hurt. "Mister, uh, whoever you are?" Her voice was high, desperate. "Are you okay?"

"No." It came out as a cough. That hurt, too. "Help the others."

As she crawled away, the Captain stirred next to him. He had thought she was well and truly out of it, but her eyes half-opened, then closed again. She began mumbling to herself. This was a not uncommon habit of hers when asleep or nearly so, and he decided to take it as a good sign.

-ooo-

_I lay in a hospital bed. The ward was bright and sunny, with a huge picture window at the far end of the room. Outside, the sun shone down on gorgeously manicured greenery, with an explosion of brilliantly-coloured flowers in every garden bed. On the bedside table, there was a get-well card alongside a Manila folder and what looked like a cordless computer game controller. Lisa bustled about, wearing a nurse outfit, fluffing up my pillow and then straightening the sheets that lay over me._

_**What the hell happened?**_

"_Bomb," she explained succinctly. "A bunch of them put a breaching charge on the door at the far end of the building. It more or less blew the end wall off."_

_**Christ. Good thing we got everyone out of those rooms.**_

"_Yes," she replied seriously. "There was another one they were putting on the door at our end, but Hanran shot the guy with the bomb and one of his buddies. The rest retreated."_

_**Uh, how is everyone?**_

_She picked up the folder and leafed through it. "Well, let's see … Hanran has a splinter through his throat. He will die very shortly. We don't have the medical equipment to help him. One of the girls has suffered serious internal injuries as well. The others are in reasonable condition, considering. Kinsey was injured further, trying to get between you and the wall. He succeeded, by the way, but he will need hospital time before he's back on his feet. The Mexican kid is a bit bruised but fine, and so is Rodriguez." She paused to lift up a note. "Oh, yeah. Meant to tell you before. Rodriguez is the reason they got the drop on us."_

_**What the fuck? **__I sat upright. __**You're shitting me. Rodriguez is a **_**mole**_**?**_

"_Steady down," she advised me. "You're not well. No, he's not a mole. He's just … sympathetic to their cause. When we settled on this plan, he contacted Lange, in the hope that knowing what he was facing would cause Lange to give up before anyone got hurt."_

_**But Lange decided to double down,**__ I muttered. __**Because fanatics are **_**so**_** easy to talk into giving up.**_

"_Yeah," she agreed. "Whoop – something's happening." Snatching up the controller, she clicked a button; the picture window blinked and I realised that it was actually a wall-sized TV screen. The image that came up next was a tad blurry, with fuzzy eyelashes at top and bottom._

_**Is this what I can see?**_

"_Yup," she muttered tensely. "Kinsey heard what you said about Rodriguez."_

_**Oh, shit.**_

"_Yeah, oh shit." Lisa pressed a button on the controller and moved it, and I saw my hand move into view on the screen. It was holding my pistol._

_**Wait, are you -**_

-ooo-

**Kinsey**

* * *

For someone who had been working in law enforcement for years, Rodriguez seemed to have absolutely no idea what to do in this situation. Clutching the rifle, he knelt beside Hanran for a moment before shaking his head and standing again. Moving nervously and jerkily, he went over to the door, then leaned around to look down the corridor.

"Rodriguez." Kinsey forced himself to speak louder than he really wanted to. "Help me sit up. Get my pistol." If this was going to come down to the Alamo, then he was going to go out facing the enemy with an empty gun. _We're even in the right state for it._

The ATF man came over. "We never should have come here," he muttered. "What are we really doing here?"

_Losing his nerve. Fuck that. I've got to snap him out of it._

But just as Kinsey drew a breath – this one hurt, too – the Captain seemed to rouse slightly. "You're shitting me," she murmured. "Rodriguez is a _mole?"_

Those four words clicked into his head. _Rodriguez is a __**mole**__?_ All of the unanswered questions, all of the little hints regarding the ATF man's behaviour, came together into one picture. _The motherfucker sold us out._

Never for even a split second did Kinsey imagine that what Captain Snow had said came from some fever dream. He had known her for far too long; she was blessed, as far as he could tell, with a level of intuition that bordered on the supernatural. Give her material to work with, and she would settle down into a waking doze; when she awoke, she had the answers, to a level of detail that left lesser men baffled.

So when she said those four words, he believed them implicitly. However, he realised too late that Rodriguez had heard them as well. Looking up into the ATF agent's eyes, Kinsey saw the dawning realisation.

"She's delirious," Rodriguez blurted. "Babbling. Doesn't know what she's talking about."

_Save the Captain, save the Captain. _"Yeah, you're right," Kinsey grunted painfully.

It was as if a switch had been flipped behind the man's eyes. "Bullshit," muttered Rodriguez. "You can't lie worth a damn."

"Not too late to give yourself up," Kinsey tried desperately. His good arm was trapped under Captain Snow's unconscious body. He couldn't try for her pistol, or even make a grab for the traitorous ATF man.

"It was too late a long time ago," Rodriguez stated. The rifle began to swing toward Kinsey. "They're right, you know. The Behemoth is the first sign. The world _is_ ending, and I can't let -"

He jerked back and screamed as a swarm of yellow-and-black objects surrounded him, punching tiny holes in his flesh. Abruptly, he jerked the rifle around, aiming at the Mexican kid. Even with the swarm on him, there was nothing Kinsey could do.

The flat _crack _of the Captain's pistol came as a total surprise. Blood sprayed from the side of Rodriguez' head; the ATF man fell sideways, his weapon unfired. Kinsey stared down at Captain Snow, who looked back with a bright gaze. She winked slowly at him once, then her eyes closed once more. The small pistol slipped from her hand and went _clunk_ on the floor.

-ooo-

\- _**playing my body like a computer game?**_

"_What if I am?" Lisa grinned as she manipulated the controller; on the screen, my hand rose with the pistol in it, aiming at Rodriguez. The little yellow and black objects were attacking him, but they would not stop the ATF man from shooting Aguijón._

_Until Lisa pressed the fire button and put a bullet through the side of Rodriguez' head. Rodriguez fell; Lisa did something with the controller that turned the viewpoint to look up at Kinsey's surprised expression. Part of the screen went dark, then the whole thing blanked out._

_**Wait, did you just wink at him?**_

"_Mayyybe." Lisa's grin was out in full force now._

_**Gimme that thing. You are not responsible enough to be in charge of it. **__I made a grab for the controller._

_Laughing, she evaded me, holding it up out of my reach. "Sorry. You're unconscious now. It won't do anything."_

_**You winked at him. Why did you wink at him?**_

_Her grin morphed into a smirk. "Because it's funny. You seriously need to flirt with him more often. You might surprise each other."_

_I gave up reaching for the remote, and shook my head. __**No. We are not opening that can of worms again.**_

_Rolling her eyes, she huffed a sigh. "Fine. Be boring."_

_**Thank you, I will. Are Kinsey and I going to make it?**_

"_Yeah." She nodded. "If I'd known Piggot was half this badass back in the day, I would've been more respectful to her."_

_I raised an eyebrow. __**No, you wouldn't.**_

_She chuckled. "You're right. I wouldn't. But I would've thought about it."_

-ooo-

**Kinsey**

* * *

Captain Snow was still breathing, so Kinsey turned his attention toward Aguijón, who still had his hand outstretched, the yellow and black 'bees' orbiting him.

"Good going, kid," he grunted. "Well done."

Aguijón began to answer, but the gunfire outside increased in intensity. Kinsey thought he heard explosions as well. He raised his head, listening.

"What's happening?" asked the Mexican kid. A couple of the girls, conscious but with the good sense to keep their heads down, also looked to Kinsey for the answer.

"Sounds like the cavalry's on the way," he grunted. "Someone help me sit up, and get my gun. We just have to hold out till they get here."

One of the girls, a brunette who may have been pretty under other circumstances, nodded. Getting up from where she'd been huddling under an upturned chair, she stumbled over to where his pistol lay next to Hanran's outstretched hand. Picking it up, she brought it to him, then crouched down next to him.

"Are we going to die?" she asked, as the noise of battle outside increased yet again. With a grunt, she helped him to sit up against the wall, the Captain cradled on his lap. He gratefully took the pistol in hand.

"Not if I can help it. Now, take cover." He aimed the pistol at the open corridor for a moment, then rested it on his knee. "Kid, watch the other door. See anything that's not wearing a uniform, blitz it."

Aguijón nodded shakily. _"Si, jefe."_

Kinsey listened to the gunfire and other noises, trying to gauge the way the fight was going. He was all too aware that he only had a few rounds left, but he was damn sure that he'd make every one count.

And then came the noise he'd been anticipating and dreading; a scrambling noise, followed by heavy boots coming down the corridor. He raised the pistol again. _I'll get one chance at this …_

* * *

**Emily**

* * *

Subtlety was out the window. Riflemen raked the windows and top of the wall as Emily led her squad forward. The PRT captain had accepted her request to lead the assault, and the other officers had not objected; she strongly suspected that if she were killed in the fighting, they would not be overly unhappy.

The captain had had a word with her before the assault. _Normally you'd be under guard by now,_ he'd said. _But we're sadly lacking in troopers with your kind of initiative and current counter-terrorism training. So I'm letting you lead the assault. But you'd better not fuck it up, Piggot, or we're both out of a career._

She had looked him square in the eye. _They've got my friend. I'm not going to fuck this up. Sir._ She had saluted; he had returned it. There was no more to be said.

"Positions!" she yelled, and the squad split in half, going to a crouch and covering their faces with their arms. Behind them, a soldier levelled an RPG – where they'd scrounged _that_ from, she wasn't sure – and let fly. The projectile lanced forward between the two halves of the squad, striking the front gate of the compound. Its explosive charge, designed to make a mess of the average armoured vehicle, wrought havoc with the wooden barrier.

Even before the dust and smoke had cleared – some of the bits and pieces were still pattering to the ground – Emily screamed the command to advance. Hefting her rifle, she was up and running, heading for the now-gaping hole in the enemy's defences.

A figure loomed in the cloud of smoke; she snapped a shot, and it fell away. She jumped over the debris that formed half the gate, fired at another defender, then took cover as a storm of fire came back at her. Pulling a grenade from her belt, she hurled it in the general direction of where most of the fire seemed to be coming from. By the time it landed and exploded, her squad had joined her, and were adding their fire to hers.

The beachhead had been established, but she had to keep pushing in. Her squad was just the tip of the spear; if they were going to take this place, if they were going to save Taylor, then they had to move fast. The last thing Emily wanted to deal with was to see Taylor with a gun to her head.

_I'll kill every one of these motherfuckers first._

"Fire Team Alpha, to the left," she snapped. "Fire Team Bravo, to the right. Fire Team Charlie, with me, down the middle. Push them back, keep them on the back foot. Go!"

As the fire teams opened up, she came out of cover, running hard across the open ground. Her squad followed her, firing on the run at the indistinct forms shooting back at them. _They're defending their home. Tough. I'm here to get my friend out._

A bullet tugged at her sleeve, and another ricocheted off of her helmet with an impact that made her head ring. But she made it to the building she wanted to get to, then spun back around with her rifle aimed around the corner to give covering fire. Another grenade lobbed downrange seemed to deal with a couple more of the defenders, and then the rest of her squad had made it to cover as well.

Not all of them were there; she counted two sprawled forms, out in the open. Neither one seemed to be moving. _Fuck. _It was the first time that people had died under her command. Intellectually, she knew that it wouldn't be the last time, probably not even today, unless she was killed first.

This was a situation that she had been told would happen someday. Officer training went over it in detail; what to expect, how to deal with it. _I just never expected it to happen to __**me.**_

"Lieutenant?" That was Jerome, her sergeant. A good man. Steady.

She took a deep breath, turned to look them each in the eye. "Let's make this count."

Jerome smiled faintly. From what she recalled, he was ex-Marines. "Hooah, Lieutenant."

She nodded very slightly in reply. "All right. Place we want is this way." She led the way to the other side of the building. It was almost peaceful here, if one ignored the steady crackle of gunfire and the occasional explosion. In the next street over, surrounded by the wreckage of a couple of buildings, was the burnt-out remains of a helicopter. Ignoring the charred remains she could see still sitting in the cockpit, she pointed past it. "That building over there is the one we want. It's where Captain Snow and Sergeant Kinsey would've taken cover. It's where the prisoners are being kept."

Jerome leaned past her to look. "It's been targeted already. The other end's been damaged."

"Not by us," Emily noted. "Makes it more likely they're in there. Okay, squad -"

Rifle fire sounded close by. Corporal Scarelli went down without a sound, while Private Kenworth screamed as a round went through his leg. Emily dropped to a crouch, aimed past her squad members at the tangoes who had just rounded a building twenty yards away. "Go-go-go!" she yelled, opening fire.

Jerome obeyed at once, leading the way past the downed chopper toward the objective. Bullets whipped and whizzed past Emily, but she was beyond fear or hesitation. The loss of Chadwick and Kelso and Scarelli had been a rite of passage for her; an unpleasant one, but necessary all the same. People died in battle; to accept that, to be aware and yet not be paralysed by it, was an essential part of the makeup of a soldier. She fired, coldly and methodically, each round a kill-shot. _Centre mass. Centre mass. Centre mass._ Five shots, five down.

And then she heard the screams. It wasn't Kenworth; he was gritting his teeth as he reached for a medical pack. This was from back around the corner.

Dropping the magazine, she slotted another one in as she turned toward the source of the noise. Leaning around the corner, she saw.

Atop the wall, in the distance, was a bright star in the shape of a man. A beam of sun-bright light, emanating from this man, was playing over the remains of her squad – _Jerome, Leacock, Forge, Norris, fuuuuuck!_

Around the man himself was a halo of darkness, almost as if he were sucking the light from the air around him. Emily neither knew nor cared; his powers could have come from him performing lewd acts with livestock for all she was concerned. This was now _personal._ Bringing her rifle to her eye, she took aim. Her sight picture formed up. She took up first pressure on the trigger.

At the last moment, he seemed to realise that she was there. A beam of light licked out, hit the wooden building. It caught fire – but she shot first. Three shots, at the same point. _Not a head shot. Against an unarmoured opponent, always go for centre mass._

The beam of light cut out. A moment later, the halo of darkness cut out, the corresponding light dissipating. The man fell; where to, she didn't care. _Pretty sure that was Sunstrike. Good riddance._

"Kenworth?" she asked over her shoulder, not looking.

"Nearly got the bleeding stopped, lieutenant," he replied, pain in his voice.

"Good man." Stepping back, she crouched beside him. "Feel up to walking?"

He tightened the bandage around his leg. "If I have to, I'll run, ma'am."

She felt a swell of pride. Barely old enough to shave, he was already doing his best to project the machismo of a professional soldier. Reaching out, she took his hand and hefted him to his feet, standing as she did so. He grunted as the weight went on to his wounded leg; she slid her shoulder under his. While he was a little taller than her, she was far more solid, and easily able to support his weight. "Ready?"

"Ready, ma'am."

"Good. Take this." She offered him her pistol, butt first. He took it awkwardly in his left hand. As a right-handed shooter, she knew that his accuracy would be terrible, but if he could put enough rounds downrange, it wouldn't matter.

As she moved forward, he did his best not to slow her down, hopping on his right leg and stepping firmly with his left. They moved out past the corner of the still-burning building. Jerome and the rest of her squad lay where Sunstrike had hit them with his light-beam power. They hadn't even seen it coming. Kenworth looked down at them and swallowed.

"Take a good look," she advised him. "That sort of shit is what happens when you drop your guard against a parahuman even once. So be damn sure to shoot first."

He nodded. "Ma'am." Convulsively, he tightened his grip on the pistol.

The blown-open end of the building was the easiest point of entry; carefully, Emily climbed up, then hefted Kenworth up while he covered her back. They moved down the corridor, Emily all too aware of the noise of their boots on the wooden floorboards. The doors were askew; each showed a room without windows, furnished only with a bed. She was almost certain she knew what the beds had been used for. _Whatever we do to them, it won't be nearly bad enough._

The end of the corridor was just up ahead. She moved more cautiously …

* * *

**Lange**

* * *

"This can't be happening." Hadrian Lange muttered the words to himself as he hurried down the passageway.

Once the attackers breached the gates, he had known that the end result was inevitable. The government could muster an effectively unending number of assault troops; the only way to win was to convince them that it wasn't worth the cost of attacking. When the helicopter had come down inside the walls and the incompetent fools under him had not immediately seized the survivors for use as hostages, they had sealed the doom of the Brotherhood of the Fallen.

He still didn't even know exactly _why_ the governmental forces had chosen to target him, just that they had. It wasn't as if the Brotherhood was high-profile; he had worked very hard toward anonymity for the group and what they stood for.

But now, however they had gotten on to him, it was all crumbling down around his shoulders. His followers were fanatical enough to keep fighting in his absence. All he needed was a few more minutes, then he would be able to set the timer and then make use of the well-concealed escape tunnel. Hadrian Lange would disappear forever; he had enough contacts to garner a new identity, make a new start. Find more people to rally behind him. There were always more fools.

Pulling a key from an inside pocket, he unlocked the door to his office. After locking it again behind him, he dropped two heavy bars into purpose-made brackets it to make absolutely sure that he wasn't disturbed. Taking a large briefcase from beside his desk, he turned to the safe that squatted in the corner of the room. With the ease of long practice, he spun the dial, first one way and then the other. The safe opened noiselessly on well-oiled hinges, revealing that which he would much rather not have to leave behind.

First, the money. Stack after stack of cash ended up in the briefcase, representing enough in the way of liquid assets to tide him over until he could rebuild the Brotherhood of the Fallen.

On the next shelf down were documents which revealed far too much about him and his secrets. _I should have burned them years ago._ But into the briefcase they went as well. Closing the case, he snapped the latches shut.

_One more thing to do._ On the lowest shelf of the safe was a flat square plastic box with a safety switch and a red button. Pressing the button would start the timer on a large amount of explosive set under the compound itself. When it went off, it probably wouldn't kill all of the intruders, but it would make identification of the dead very difficult; thus, he would get his revenge for this setback _and_ cover his tracks.

He reached for the remote.

* * *

**Emily**

* * *

_Something_ had obviously been going on in the large room at the end of the building. Close to the end of the corridor, Emily could see a large grey-skinned man, lying on his back. He appeared to have no eyes. Further in, a pair of legs was visible.

Prudently, she paused before revealing herself. "PRT! Drop your weapons!" _I have to assume whoever's in there is hostile until proven otherwise._

"PRT!" The voice was barely a croak. "Sergeant James Kinsey!" He rattled off his service number.

"Kinsey, it's Lieutenant Piggot," Emily replied. "Is Captain Snow there?"

"Here, but unconscious, ma'am. We've got wounded."

_Dammit. It could still be a trick._ She remembered meeting the burly Sergeant, but she didn't know his voice well enough, or his service number. "Sergeant. Captain Snow's friend. The one who can shoot. What's his name?"

She fancied she heard amusement in his tone, as pained as it was. "He's a she, ma'am, and her name's Gladys Knott. I hear she waxed your ass but good."

The surname was unfamiliar, but the rest was correct. She still recalled her jaw-dropping amazement as a goddamn _schoolteacher_ outshot her, target after target. "Coming out, Sergeant. Don't shoot."

Together with Kenworth, she stepped forward, to see even more carnage than she expected. Five dead men, six if she counted the obvious parahuman. Both Hanran and Rodriguez were down, she noted absently. _Six girls, two unconscious. Fuck._ And Kinsey …

The burly Sergeant was propped up against the far wall, his pistol in his hand. Cradled against his body was Taylor. They were both bloodstained, scorched and obviously injured; she looked the more beat-up of the pair, but not by much. "She's alive?"

He nodded. "Yeah, but we need medics, bad." From the sound of his voice, Taylor wasn't the only one.

"Roger that, Sergeant." Outside, the firing was almost done. She activated her radio. "Fire Team Charlie Actual calling Fire Base One. Objective achieved. Six, I say again, six hostages secured. Casualties, I say again, casualties. Medical assistance required urgentmost. Do you copy, over?"

It took a long moment for the reply to come back. _"Message received, Fire Team Charlie Actual. Medvac incoming alpha-sierra-alpha-papa. Hold tight. Fire Base One, out."_

"Fire Team Charlie Actual, that's a roger. Out." Emily looked looked over at Kinsey. "Congratulations, Sergeant. You did it."

Kinsey's smile, though pained, was genuine. "The Captain did the hard work, ma'am. I was just along for the ride."

* * *

**Lange**

* * *

The door to the office burst open in a cloud of splinters. Lange spun around, coming to his feet, the remote forgotten. An imposing figure, made no less so by the sheet wrapped around her, stalked into the room. The bars, top and bottom, snapped like dry twigs, impeding her advance not in the slightest.

"You … fucking … little … shit," snarled Joanne. "I'm gonna take you apart like a fucking Christmas turkey."

He looked up at her, curling his lip. As he opened his mouth to speak, she lunged forward, only to stumble and collapse to the floor. An agonised shriek left her lips as she writhed, her back arching off the ground.

"You're _nothing,"_ he said. "I can kill you here and now, and you can't do -"

Too late, he looked up to see the metallic statue standing in the doorway. Metal leaped out from her, wrapping around him, pinioning his arms and legs. Worse, the metal also covered his eyes, holding his head tightly. Line of sight to the brutish woman was broken; his power over her ended. He could hear her getting to her feet.

"You were saying?" she asked. "Nice save, Kari. Thanks."

"I, uh, no problem," a softer voice answered. "What do we do with him now?"

"There's money in the briefcase," he said swiftly. "Let me go and it's all yours."

The big woman laughed harshly. "You drugged me. You chained me down to a fucking bed. You let Smasher do what he wanted to me. And you think _money_ will get you out of this?"

"All right then," he replied. "I surrender. Hand me over to the police."

* * *

**Kari**

* * *

"No." Joanne's voice was flat. "No. You don't get out of this so easily."

"Uh, we _do_ have him prisoner," Kari objected, but her heart really wasn't in it.

"And the moment his eyes are uncovered, he can cause pain just by looking at someone." Joanne shook her head. "And what he's done. What he was going to do to you. You're just going to let him _walk_ after all that?"

She was right. Kari could remember, all too clearly, her terror in that small stuffy room, with the rawboned man looming over her, undoing his belt. What _could_ have happened … _I owe Roberto so very much._

"I …" she began, but Lange spoke over her.

"_You will do nothing,"_ he snapped. "You will let me go. You will _both_ let me go. I _will _walk out of here, and you will do _nothing to stop me."_

Far from being hypnotic, his voice was grating on the ears. But Kari felt it influencing her, deep inside. _He's right. I have to let him go._

Joanne swayed. "Kari, you have to let him go … _no!"_ Her eyes came into focus for just a moment. "No, shit, his voice, his voice!"

But it was too late. Kari was already letting the metal slide off of him. The moment his eyes were free, they focused their burning gaze upon Joanne; she screamed once more as she hunched over. But then she straightened again, agony etched in her every feature, every inch of movement a battle against almost insurmountable odds.

"_No,"_ she grated. Lunging forward, she clamped her hand over his mouth.

That insidious voice stilled, Kari took her opportunity. This was a man who had caused Joanne to be violated many times. The other girls had suffered just the same fate. Much the same would have happened to her, but for a kind Mexican boy who chose not to bend to peer pressure.

_He was going to break me in. How many of the others did he do that to?_

Her resolve hardened. The metal rod sharpened, punching into his abdomen, branching out into a thousand needle-sharp points, metal reaching into every part of his body. His back arched as he screamed past Joanne's gagging hand. And then it burst _outward, _turning him into a silvery pincushion from the inside.

Joanne released him. His eyes stared back at them, but there was no power in his gaze any more. He gasped once, twice, three times, like a landed fish, and then he stopped breathing. His head lolled sideways.

Slowly, Kari withdrew the metal from him, the spikes retreating into his flesh and withdrawing along the entry points. When the last of it slid out of the wound in his abdomen, he fell bonelessly to the floor.

"Oh shit," Kari choked. "I killed him. I really killed him."

Joanne put an arm around her shoulders. "Yeah, but he really deserved it," she assured the younger girl. "Thanks. You saved my ass back there."

"You saved both of us," Kari replied, then watched in confusion as Joanne took hold of the heavy desk and hefted it. "What are you doing?"

"Confusing the hell out of whoever does the post-mortem," Joanne grunted. With an effort, she brought the end of the desk down on the supine corpse, several times in a row. Drawers fell from the desk and their contents scattered over the floor, but Joanne didn't stop until Lange was more or less unrecognisable as a human being. With a thud, she dropped the desk on top of the mangled body. "Okay, _now_ we can go."

Without a backward glance, they both walked from the office.

* * *

End of Part 5-3

* * *

_Author's Note: REMF = Rear Echelon Mother-Fucker. An officer who never goes to the front lines, but issues orders that screw things up and get soldiers killed._


End file.
